


Careful What You Wish For

by Whynotitsfun



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: A New Republic, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, I Hate My Job Says Bass, Politics, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, charloe - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-02-21 09:32:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 84,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2463473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whynotitsfun/pseuds/Whynotitsfun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you were so sure you thought you knew exactly what you wanted, only to find out you were dead wrong. Sometimes you'd do anything to get out of it. And thus this story was born. Charloe cause I can, (slow burn...) Help, friendship and a little bit of clarity can come from unusual places... In this universe, the nano have no bearing on the story or plot whatsoever. In fact, they are not mentioned at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This Was What You Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> The only thing I can really say about this is it will be maybe 10 chapters max, most of them will be fairly short (for me at any rate) and that it assumes that there will be no battles with the Nano—essentially it ignores the entire Nano plot completely other than the fact that the power is out. The beginning takes place about a year or so after the Patriots are defeated (or 2 ½ years after the tower).

                Monroe sat at his desk, whiskey in hand. He watched the amber liquid as it swirled in the glass, contemplating the events of the day. The treaty that Frank Blanchard had sent from Austin still sat in front of him, unopened and unread. He was sure he’d end up signing it, but for the time being he left it alone.

                He’d had several reports that had made their way to him earlier in the day, all of them total shit. The harvest from the Southern Annex was poor at best due to the war and disorganization that had existed over the past two and a half years – ever since the bombs had dropped.

                With the loss of the coal mines in Pennsylvania because of the fallout zone, they were only left with the ones in the Virginias, which meant that the trains he’d inherited were not running anywhere near capacity. On top of that, the entire Great Lakes region was in rebellion—mostly due to conflict between the locals and the militia.

                He downed the contents of his glass and rubbed at his temples in a pathetic attempt to sooth the pressure there. Things would have been a hell of a lot easier if Miles had agreed to come back east with him after the war against the Patriots.

                After staring at his empty glass for a while he rose to refill it. He was just setting the decanter down when a knock at the door brought him out of his thoughts. “Hold on,” he said as he buttoned his shirt to the collar and rolled his sleeves back down. After all, eleven at night or not, it wouldn’t do to be seen completely disheveled by an inferior officer.

                “Come!” he ordered after running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to push it back off his forehead. As he waited for the door to open, he made a mental note to send for a barber in the near future. It also wouldn’t do to have his constantly unruly curls sticking out everywhere. He had an image to uphold, after all.    

                Some lieutenant whose name he couldn’t quite recall appeared in the doorway. He’d only been assigned to the compound within the past week. The man saluted him and waited at attention. Bass returned the salute and gestured for him to enter. “Sir, a rider from Michigan just arrived. He sent these dispatches.”              

                “Thank you Lieutenant…”

                “Harris, sir.” The young man reminded him.

                “Yes, of course,” Monroe responded, distracted. “Dismissed,” he said after going through the whole saluting business once more. He was really starting to hate protocol.

                When the soldier was gone and the door closed against intrusion once more he picked up the letter on top. Sinking back into his chair he unbuttoned the thick wool uniform shirt. It was so odd; the uniform that he’d so prized long ago was now little more than a scratchy nuisance that he loathed almost as much as saluting and all the “Yes sir, No sir” business.

                He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard his actual name. He was starting to miss his name. People who called you by your name were your friends. Since no one used his name, he supposed that meant that now he had no friends, not that he really had any before setting up the capital for the new Republic in Nashville. Not since Miles had written him off again, anyway.

                He set the pages down for a second as he shrugged out of the shirt. As an afterthought, he wadded it up and tossed it across the room, watching as it landed a few feet from the wastebasket. _Gotta work on my free throw,_ he thought wryly before turning his attention back to the task at hand.

                Picking up the dispatch again, he scanned its contents. “Rebellion in Detroit escalating… Rations low… Civilians refusing to pay taxes… Requesting permission to engage?”

                He read portions of the letter aloud as if they would somehow embed better within his already tired mind. When he finished he set the page down and crossed his arms over his desk, resting his head on top of them. The news from the northern portion of his fledgling new nation had done little to help his headache.

                Monroe knew damn good and well why the civilians in Detroit were refusing to give the militia the required twenty percent of their crop yield. With a shit growing season in the north and the chaos in the past two years there simply wasn’t enough food to go around.        

 _What to do?_ If he allowed them to not pay this year, it would make him seem weak and on top of that, it would make it harder to feed the militia soldiers that protected that area of the Republic. However, if he waived the taxes, then they wouldn’t starve and maybe (just maybe) the rebellion would simmer down. He’d dealt with that region more harshly the first time around, which was why they hadn’t taken the new Republic sitting down in the first place. The lack of food was the fuel that fire had needed to spread.

                _Do you know who worries about seeming weak? Weak people…_ Sure, those were noble words, and they were fairly accurate as well-- even if the young man that had spoken them didn’t really believe in them.

                With a frustrated sigh, Monroe sat up, grabbed a sheet of paper and the quill pen on his desk and began to write.

                _Col. Andrew Gray, 14 th div._

_Col. Gray,_

_Your report of the situation in Detroit has been received. Permission to engage is denied. Civilians will be issued the following message: Those choosing to stand down and lay down their arms will receive a temporary reprieve on taxes, to be repaid at ten percent per year over the next ten years._

_Any militia soldiers caught trying to collect taxes from any household or township that has chosen to cease in rebelling against the Republic will be court marshalled without further warning—and they will be dealt with harshly. The same policy will be enforced throughout all regions affected by the poor harvest._

_Also, rumors have reached Nashville of issues regarding abuses with the local female population in several regions. Spread the word that these had better be only rumors. Any inappropriate behavior amongst the militia regarding unwilling females (or males for that matter) will result in penalties including but not limited to—loss of pay, court marshal and/or hard labor._

_I hope that I have made myself very clear on the matter. In other words: Keep your men in check. If they’ve got time to harass the ladies, I can find other ways for them to be useful to the Republic and earn their pay and their families’ crop shares. Now that this has been formally addressed, be advised that I will hold commanding officers responsible for the behavior of their men as well._

_Regards, etc._

_President-General S. Monroe_

                Monroe set the pen down and waited for the ink to dry. “Let him think about that,” he said under his breath as he folded and sealed his response. He barely knew the man personally, but for some reason he decided that he didn’t like him.

                He copied these new instructions down on another piece of paper and rose to pass on both this and the missive to Gray. He stopped by the door and looked at the crumpled up shirt he’d thrown there and then down at the t shirt he was still wearing. _Fuck it_. He left his uniform shirt where it had landed and opened the door, barking for Harris.

                Several minutes later the young lieutenant appeared. “This response is to be delivered to the rider from the 14th division immediately. Make sure he’s fed and has a room for the night. I expect him to leave at first light.

                He indicated the other paper. “See that this is copied and sent to the commanding officers of every division in the field and is distributed to General Adams as well. I want every soldier in the entire fucking militia to be aware of this by the end of the month. No exceptions.”

                “Will there be anything else sir?” the lieutenant asked as he took the offered pages.

                “That is all,” Monroe ordered. The young man saluted him, which he returned after a moment. “Oh, one more thing… I’m officially off duty for the night. No disturbances unless the world is ending,” he added.

                Monroe went back into his office and locked the door behind him. He went through the double doors on the far side of the room, which led to his personal quarters—a small sitting room, a washroom of sorts and his bedroom. Entering the bedroom he kicked off his boots and flopped down on the bed.      

                Reaching over he grabbed empty glass off of the nightstand. Hesitating, he sat up just enough to pour himself another glass of whiskey from the bottle he’d so shamelessly stashed under the nightstand. Maybe just one more would numb him to sleep. “Got I hate my job,” he mumbled before downing it and then pouring yet another.

                An hour later, he stared at the ceiling. He watched as it spun above him, just as he had every night since he’d set up his capital in Nashville eight months prior. He knew he was going to feel like hell in the morning-- just has he had every morning since he’d gotten back what was left of his empire and then some.

                Gone were the days of running from the Patriots and sleeping out on the road or in some shitty new safe house. He’d never realized at the time that he’d miss it. Sure, his presence had been barely tolerated at best by Miles and his family—and he’d constantly worried that he’d end up with Rachel’s knife in his back, but for a short time he’d just been a soldier again, fighting the good fight (sort of).

                Now his life had devolved into decision making and politics and so on. He’d hoped that things would be different this time around, but it was all the same. People were unhappy and hungry. The militia was once again public enemy number one. There were still constant clashes on the border between the militia and the plains.

                The facts were that people wanted the militia to protect them from the war clans and the militia wanted the respect and supplies, but all Monroe wanted was to feel like someone—anyone actually gave a damn about him or what he was trying to accomplish.

                Of course within a month or so of reclaiming everything viable east of the Mississippi River, Connor had come sniffing around. He’d begged to make amends, swearing that it had been Tom Neville that had confused him and blurred his judgment with lies. _You got what you wanted, didn’t you? Isn’t that why you did this in the first place? Or did you have other motives… ones that had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with THEM?_

                It had taken him all of two days to realize that Connor was a very gifted actor and maybe wasn’t all he’d seemed. A month down the road, he’d come to the realization that his son was the worst thing that could ever happen to the Republic. He’d come at him almost immediately with plans to take on the Plains and Canada. It had taken Bass weeks of arguing to get it through his progeny’s thick skull that they were _not_ going to implement those plans and that he, not Connor was in charge—or so he’d thought.

                He’d finally had to send out a dispatch to the entire militia ordering all soldiers do immediately disregard and report any and all orders coming from Connor. Three months ago, Connor had officially been sent home to Jasper with orders to keep his butt there and his mouth shut. Essentially he was living under house arrest. His household would be maintained by the Republic indefinitely, but that was the most he was willing to offer his son.

                The little idiot having tried to take on St. Louis in the name of the Republic had been the straw that broke the camel’s back. Monroe had barely been able to stop it before the first attack had been made. The border war it could have caused would have been catastrophic for the Republic. So now Connor sat rotting in Jasper and was no longer considered heir apparent for the presidency.

                Of course, that left Monroe with an even bigger problem. He had to figure out who would take over in the event of his untimely demise or eventual retirement. That was something that the original incarnation of the Republic had lacked towards the end and it had caused a lot of turmoil in the already unstable nation.

                The next in line had always been Miles, but after he’d left there was no one. Now that Connor was essentially a prisoner there was no one once again, but Monroe knew that if something were to happen to him before a new one was chosen that his son could very well likely end up with the job.

                In his drunken state, he had an idea. It was most definitely a horrible idea, but it was one all the same. He got out of bed and stumbled into his office, almost tripping twice. He threw himself into his chair and hastily began to write a letter. A part of him realized that he should probably wait until he was at least halfway sober to think about it and write the letter. And then, he should wait until he was completely sober before reading it, but then again if he did that he’d never send the damn thing.

                Finished, he scanned its contents—not to reconsider but merely to make sure that it was at least halfway legible. Satisfied that it at least resembled English and seemed to be spelled correctly, he sealed it and sat staring at it for a few moments. _Might as well send it now before you have a chance to come to your senses…_ He burst out into the hallway. “Get me that Harris kid,” he barked at a guard stationed down the hallway, at the top of the stairs.

To his credit, the lieutenant did his best to hide his shock at their commanding general’s appearance when he arrived a short while later. Quite drunk and half-dressed the general looked as out of place as a man could be. “See to it that this letter gets sent at once. I want it on a train west before dawn,” he ordered

                “But sir, the coal reserves are almost completely depleted. Most of the trains have been shut down indefinitely,” Harris began nervously.

                “I don’t care if they have to burn pinecones to get the damn thing moving. I want it delivered before the end of the week!” With that he slammed the door in the young man’s face and stumbled back into his bedroom to find his bed once more. As the liquor and exhaustion worked in tandem to force him to sleep, he found himself feeling hopeful for the first time in months.


	2. Words With (Old) Friends

_Willoughby Texas…_

                Charlie looked up from her task. She was using a pair of tongs to stir a pot on the stove. Inside was not dinner but boiling water and freshly laundered bandages. As her grandfather’s official-unofficial assistant (her mother being his official assistant), she had been spending her entire day doing tasks such as this.

                Yes, things like this sucked, but they were still necessary. One couldn’t run a doctor’s office without supplies and in the post-blackout world there were no packages of sterile gauze or boxes adhesive bandages to be had. A doctor needed to have clean bandages available at all times and it was one of Charlie’s many jobs to ensure that he did.

                One by one she pulled them out. She put them in a plastic tub. Later she would hang them up to dry in what used to be the guest bathroom. Once they were dry they would be carefully stored until needed and any wounded souls in Willoughby would be assured that any infection they might receive wouldn’t be from their bandages.

                A knock came to the door, interrupting her from her task. When it became clear that no one else was going to answer it, she set down the tongs and headed to the other side of the house to do it herself.

                She opened the door to reveal a Texas Ranger. “Charlotte Matheson?”

                “Yes?” She did her best to swallow back the nervousness that his presence caused. What could the Rangers possibly want with her? The times her family had dealt with them in the past usually involved rather large quantities of bullets, and as boring as her life had become over the past year that was something she’d rather avoid.

                The ranger handed her a letter before tipping his hat and turning to head down the porch stairs. Charlie watched him for a second before closing the door. She turned the letter over and inspected the wax seal. The “M” imbedded into it told her exactly where it was from, and that only one of two different people could have sent it.

                That at least explained the special delivery. Any correspondence sent from Nashville would have to go through official channels. To send anything otherwise could be seen as an act of treason on the recipient’s behalf and an act of war. There was still a lot of tension between Texas and the new Monroe Republic, despite the friendship of sorts that had sprung up between Blanchard and Monroe. Just because the latter had played a significant role in saving Texas from itself didn’t mean that he wasn’t a potential problem, after all.            

                She finally broke the wax seal and unfolded the letter carefully. She almost began to read before she thought better of it. Suddenly an overwhelming urge for privacy hit her. Folding it back up, she stuck it in her pocket before going back to her chore with the bandages. It would have to wait until later.

                Late that night, after sharing a quiet dinner and conversation with her family and the Pittmans, Charlie finally made her way to her bedroom. Mindful of the letter that had been burning a hole in her pocket all day; she pulled it out and set it on her nightstand. After getting ready for bed and turning the lamp down, she burrowed under the blankets, with every intention of waiting until the morning to read the letter.

                She tossed and turned for the better part of an hour before she finally gave up on the pretense of sleep. She may have been trying to deny it, but she was dying to know which of the two Monroes had been the author of her letter. For reasons she couldn’t explain, that seemed to be more important than its actual content.

                She relit her lamp and turned the wick up just enough for her to see. She reached for the letter and unfolded it once more. She knew before she even started reading it that it was most definitely from the elder of the two men.

                _Charlotte,_

_I’ve found myself in a bit of trouble and I’m hoping you’re willing to help me. Needless to say, any hopes I’d once had of Miles joining me here in Nashville have been abandoned, so I can’t turn to him and Connor isn’t what you would call up for the task either. I find myself in need of not only an advisor that I can trust, but also one that is willing to speak freely and candidly on several different issues. The future of the Republic depends on it._

_I will be frank; things here have not gone according to plan. All my best efforts have for the most part gone to waste. On top of that, some things happened between me and Connor that are only adding to the instability, not only in Nashville but throughout the entire Republic._

_I’d written to your uncle more than once for advice, but he has made it very clear that he will under no circumstance step foot on the eastern side of the river, let alone help me in any way. And so, I am writing to extend my offer of a position in Nashville to you._

_I’m sure you are perfectly inclined to respond by telling me to go fuck myself, but I’m asking that you at least come to Nashville and hear me out and see what I am trying to do before you give in to that impulse._

_A courier will await your reply at the border crossing on Baton Rouge._

_With warmest regards,_

_Gen. Sebastian Monroe_

_P.S. I’m begging you. I need help, Charlie -- Bass_                

                Charlie folded the letter neatly and sat up in bed, propped against her pillows. She stared at the back of it, her gaze once more settling on the now broken seal. The sight of the “M” reminded her so much of the horror that was the old Republic. This sent a shudder through her.         

                Of course, he was right. Her first instinct had been to burn the letter and send the ashes of it back to him with a letter of her own (which would likely only contain the words “fuck” and “you”).  But then her thoughts went back to that post script. That one line stopped her.

                The remainder of the letter was so formal and if she’d learned anything from him, he adopted the formality to hide his more psychotic tendencies. In contrast, the man she’d fought beside was crass and vulgar—deliciously filthy (and fun, if she’d only admit it to herself).  The mass murderer called her Charlotte without fail—it was a matter of protocol. The only time that the other side of him called her that was when he was trying to prove a point—or just piss her off.

                The post script was so informal that it bordered on sincere. The personal addition was so unlike the general persona that she just couldn’t get it out of her mind. As she contemplated this, she realized that there was something else about the letter that was odd. Something with the way it was written. She unfolded it for a third time.

                She’d seen dispatches from him before—copies of letters the rebels and the Georgia Federation had intercepted when they were still trying to overthrow him. The handwriting then was so perfectly uniform and straight. It was like the man had a talent for even lines and spacing. Aaron had even said once that it appeared almost as if he’d done it on a computer (which had been impossible of course, but it was just that _perfect)._

                This letter was anything but. Sure, the handwriting itself was the same confident script he’d always used. The letters were formed the same as always, slanted just so in indication of his being left handed. That is where the resemblance ended. This was written so badly that it was actually almost sad. The lines were poorly spaced and were written uphill in some places, downhill in others. He’d taken an entire page to write something that could just have easily fit in the top half. The only word she could use to describe it was sloppy. The General didn’t do sloppy—it was a sign of weakness, after all.

                Charlie laid awake in her bed the remainder of the night. After much thought and changing her mind more than once, she finally made her decision. She crawled out of bed and shoved some clothes and other necessities in a backpack. Dashing off a quick note, she slipped out the back door before anyone else was awake. There was an early train to New Orleans every Friday (lucky her).

                _What are you thinking?_ She asked herself as she waited to pay her fare for the train ride. It was not cheap and it took most of her meager savings. _He is SO reimbursing me… with interest._ Of course she could have sent her response in writing. It was obvious that was what he’d expected. He probably planned on hearing from her within a week or two and then (hopefully) making arrangements to send for her later. Well, if there was anything she’d learned from the man was to keep him guessing or he’d run roughshod all over you—and that was something she couldn’t allow.

                When she got to the border she found the courier easily enough. He’d been expecting, of course a letter. What he had not expected was this young and feisty blonde insisting on travelling to Nashville immediately. His initial reaction was to inform her that he needed to send word to Nashville for further instructions, but Charlie could be very convincing when she needed to be.

                The end results were that she was on a train north by the end of the day and that the courier was just a little bit afraid of her. As the young man climbed aboard after her, he realized that their President in Chief may very well have bitten off more than he could chew with this strong-willed viper—and that he was more than happy to deliver her to his doorstep and have nothing else to do with her.

               

               


	3. Allow Myself to (Re)Introduce... Myself

                Monroe sat going over the treaty from Texas. The thing had sat idle at his desk for well over a week and he had finally worked up the energy to read it. He could only put his job off for so long. To the side he kept a list of concerns he had and things he wanted to amend. The first thing he’d listed at the top of, before he’d even read a word of the document before him was written in all caps and underlined for emphasis… FOOD!!!!

                A knock interrupted his work. “Come!” he called out, his standard greeting, to be sure. Sally, the compound’s housekeeper entered. “Good afternoon, General. I was just checking to see if you were ready for luncheon,” the matronly woman asked. As housekeeper, it was her job to ensure that the residential section of the capital ran smoothly and assigning tasks to and overseeing the maids and other staff. She took her job very seriously.

                _Luncheon? Why does it have to be so damned formal?_ Still, despite his recent aversion to formality, he was starving. “Just bring me whatever’s lying around the kitchen.”

                “But sir….”

                He looked up from the pages he held. “Sally, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of a nationwide food crisis. Formal meals for all staff, myself included are suspended until further notice.”

                “Sir, if we don’t use up what’s in the larder, it will just go to waste,” she argued.

                Monroe pinched the bridge of his nose. Another day, another thousand problems, another migraine. “Then go through it and send whatever we can’t use right away to whoever can.” He gave her a severe look. “I mean it. No more five course meals, no more catered staff meetings. Nobody eats it all anyway. Just bring me a sandwich or something.”

                She nodded her understanding and backed out of the room, slightly offended. It was her job to manage and arrange all of those five course meals and catered staff meetings. Granted, she’d always thought them to be a little on the extravagant side and it would make her job a lot easier to not have to organize three formal meals a day for the general, not to mention the ones for the ranking militia that worked in the other side of the compound, but she’d always taken pride in those meals.

                She went to the kitchen and found herself personally putting together a simple meal for the leader of their nation herself as the three cooks that worked under her under her took inventory of what was in the pantry. She was just about to send the plate up to him when a missive arrived via a much winded looking private.

                _Sally,_

_In addition to the instructions I have already given: as is policy, all employees will still receive meals while they are on the premises, however from now on all senior staff will share the same fare as all entry level staff, myself and all advisors and officials included._

_Meal plans should follow the same quantities and quality as the standards for garrisoned militia. If it’s good enough for the men and women charged with protecting our borders and maintaining the peace, it should be good enough for the rest of us._

_All meals should be adjusted accordingly and leftovers shall be delivered at the end of each meal to the orphanage on South Main. It has come to my attention recently that this facility has not been able to procure supplies to meet their current needs. There should be more than enough available staff to see that this is done three times a day, seeing as how they will have less to do in the kitchen from here on out._

_Harris will supply you with any information you need in regards to making this transition. I have appointed him as my personal secretary effective immediately and he is at your disposal in all things regarding the running of both my personal residence and the capital. Any instructions regarding changes to this or any other policy should be taken as having come directly from me._

_Gen. S. Monroe._

                Monroe had just received the plate from Sally and had dismissed the poor nervous looking maid. _Am I really that scary?_ He took his lunch and the treaty over to the small table in his private quarters, intent on working through lunch. _A general does not eat at his desk. It’s crude_. He barely had his ass in the chair when another knock came to the door.

                He sighed in irritation and with one last forlorn look at his plate (that ham sandwich had looked _so_ good), he went back into his office with the stack of papers in hand and sat down behind the desk. In an attempt to look busy, he started flipping through the treaty once more before responding. “Come!”

                “Sir, a response to your letter to Ms. Matheson has arrived,” Harris said.

                He glanced up and saw that the young man’s hands were empty. “Well?” he asked after a moment. “The response?”

                Harris merely nodded and went back to the door. Monroe raised a brow, confused. When nothing happened he shrugged and turned back to the treaty. He heard the door closing followed by footsteps on the hardwood floor. “Okay, Monroe. You’ve got five minutes to show me what you’re trying to do and what you want with me. I’ll hear you out—just this once,” she said as she leaned on the desk before him.

                Monroe set down the treaty and slowly lifted his gaze. There she was, looming over him. The look on her face told him she was trying very hard to look a lot more irritated than she actually was. “Charlie,” he greeted her cautiously.

                “Jesus, Monroe. You look like shit,” she murmured as she straightened. And he did too. His hair was a mess and entirely too long (he’d forgotten to send for that barber), and he wasn’t in his full uniform. Indeed, if Charlie would have only turned around, she’d see his shirt in a ball hanging halfway inside the wastebasket. He’d tossed it there every morning for the past week when it had been returned to him laundered and ready. He could no longer stomach the thought of wearing it, and only did so when it was absolutely unavoidable, but on a side note-- his aim was getting much better.

                There were also dark circles under his eyes, indicative of his ongoing insomnia and the stress that came with his job. “Don’t you sleep?” she added when she noticed them.

                “Well hello, Charlie. It’s nice to see you too,” he replied with a roll of his eyes. _She came… I can’t believe it, she’s here._

                An hour later they were sitting in front of two empty plates in his adjoining quarters. She hadn’t had a thing all day and when he’d heard her stomach growl he’d immediately sent for a second plate. She’d actually been mildly surprised at the simplicity of the food. She’d expected something more lavish than a ham sandwich and an apple. “So why did you send for me, Monroe?”

                He watched her for a moment. His first instinct was to give her one hell of a sales pitch, lay on the charm nice and thick and hope for the best—but this was Charlie. Instead he did something so out of character for him that it shocked them both. He dropped his defenses, cut the bullshit and decided to be brutally honest, no matter how bad it made him look or pathetic it made him sound.

                “I need your help,” he began.

                Charlie narrowed her eyes at him. She’d seen him visibly retract the wall he always so carefully kept around himself, but still didn’t trust his motivation for a second. “So you’ve said.”

                “I’m trying to make things right—to make the Republic what it should have been the first time, but I can’t do this alone. And I… I don’t want to do this at all.”

                That took her by surprise. “What?”

                He sighed as he leaned back in his chair, his gaze finding something, anything to look at other than her distrusting eyes. “I hate my job, Charlie. I can’t fucking stand it.”    

                She got up from the table. His confession had made her uncomfortable and his almost defeated air was making it worse. She looked out the window and watched the people pass by on the street below. “Then why did you go through so much effort to reclaim your little throne?”

                Monroe winced a little at the bitterness in her voice, the anger at his audacity. “So I had _something_ to offer the only family I had left. I guess I didn’t want to accept that the connection there would always be one sided. It doesn’t matter why, what matters is that the Republic exists and I’m stuck with it. Unfortunately, it’s also stuck with me.”

                She turned around to look at him. “Why? If you don’t want it, walk away.”

                “If I do that, Connor will surely come to power and _that_ would be a disaster. You think I was crazy and brutal before? You think that the Republic was the worst possible place to live? You haven’t seen anything yet.” He raised his voice, not in anger but in utter despair. “He’s sick, Charlie. He’s sick and crazier than I ever was—and I can’t help him. Believe me, I’ve tried.” His voice cracked against his will.

                He spent the next several minutes describing Connor’s attempts at playing warlord. “If he gets into power it’s going to mean wars and hunger and everything else that defined the Republic before the tower, only this time it’ll be worse. I had to send him to Jasper and put him under house arrest when he tried to lead an unauthorized raid on the Plains.”

                “So what do you need me for?” she finally asked, her tone and posture all but demanding that he lay it all out there. She was trying very hard to ignore the emotional “slip.” _Remember he’s manipulative when he wants something_ , she reminded herself.

                Monroe rose and stood before her. _Time to lay all my cards out on the table_.  “Officially, Connor can’t succeed me as president, but if something were to happen to me he’d likely end up with the job all the same. For the sake of both the Republic and everyone living within our borders that _can’t_ happen, Charlie. I need a potential successor, but for now, I’m just asking that you become an advisor in an official capacity. I need help stabilizing the country. Nothing I’m doing seems to be helping.”

                “You’ve got a hundred senior officers that are probably jumping at that chance. Why me?” she challenged.

                He should have known that she wouldn’t make it easy. “Half of them are holdovers from the former incarnation of the Republic. You saw how the militia ran before. Others are from Georgia. It might have looked like they were so much better, but believe me that the only difference between the Georgia Federation and Monroe Republic was that they had more food. They were every bit as brutal, if not more so. The rest of them are completely inexperienced. You’ve got more time in the field than the lot of them.” He took a step closer. “And, I can’t trust them. You on the other hand…”

                Charlie laughed nervously as she took a step back. “You think you can trust _me_?”

                “Yes.” His blue eyes softened. “At the very least, you’ll want to do the right thing; that’s how you’re built. The rest of them will only try to advance themselves further. You, on the other hand are one of the most selfless and moral people have ever known. Also, I know you’ll keep me in check.” Monroe lowered his voice and locked eyes with her meaningfully. “It’s very hard not to slip back into old habits. I know you’d be able to stop me if that happened.”

                “And how would I do that?”

                “Once you’ve been here a while and made a name for yourself, I intend to make you my vice president. For one, if I got out of hand all you’d have to do is shoot me and the Republic would be yours to run as you see fit.”

                Charlie flinched at the suggestion. _Shoot him?_ It was almost like he was begging her to do just that. She could almost feel the desperation seeping off of him. It was just all starting to sink in what he was offering her. He wanted to groom her to lead the Republic after he was gone.

                “I’m begging you, Charlie. I can’t do this alone—not anymore. I’m terrified of what I’ll become if I keep going on the way I have all these months,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper now.

                Charlie turned back to the window and resumed watching the denizens of Nashville, bustling back and forth as they went about their days. They stood unmoving for quite some time before she turned back to him. “I will stay—for now. No promises though,” she said with a resigned sigh as she went against her instincts and caved. She walked past him and towards his office. “Okay, so show me what you’ve been doing.” 


	4. All Work And No Play Makes Bass A Dick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will probably be the longest chapter in this by far. There was no way to split it up logically. This fic isn’t meant to be overly long or descriptive, but I thought the subject matter was fun. I suppose could have gone without the first half, but the troubles he’s having are significant to the plot later. Also, thanks to everyone that has commented on this story so far. I promise I’ll reply to as many comments as I can once the weekend is over. It’s enough just to get the chapters up with working all weekend.

                Over the first several days after Charlie’s arrival, Monroe spent most of his time showing her everything he’d been working on to try and bring peace and stability to the new Monroe Republic. He made it a point to show her the new policies he’d enacted in regards to taxes and the militia’s behavior towards civilians first, hoping it would help to prove he was sincere.  

                Charlie spent hours alone in her office going over correspondences between Nashville and representatives from the south and so on. One week into her position as his advisor she found herself lying in bed with a stack of papers sitting on her lap, the oil lamp turned up to give her just enough light to see. She had her work cut out for her and had been burning the midnight oil since her arrival.

                One of the first things she’d done when she’d managed to break away from Monroe was do a little digging around about him. Before she made any permanent decisions, she wanted to know if he was headed down that road again. According to his staff he’d been working from dawn until late into the night every day for months. It was a common sight to see him barking orders and sending dispatches at two in the morning or later.

                He rarely left his office and quarters unless absolutely necessary and he hadn’t left the compound in months.  This did little to reassure Charlie. From what she’d heard when they were fighting against the previous incarnation of the Monroe Republic, he’d eventually cut himself off the same way right around the time he started to go crazy.    

                She’d also learned from the maids and from Sally that his drinking was starting to get out of hand. They couldn’t see how he even managed to function with how much he went through. This had been going on for months—ever since Connor had popped up at their doorstep. He also never sought female company.

                That struck Charlie as disturbingly odd. The Sebastian Monroe she knew had been a total male slut, if there ever was one. While she’d been tailing him in New Vegas she noticed he always had some piece of ass following him around. And, during the war she’d heard more than one rumor of his exploits.

                Harris was only able to provide her with limited insight into his behavior. He’d been on guard duty when the message from Detroit had arrived and had been sent by his superior to deliver it— that was all. He’d just somehow slipped into his role as Monroe’s go to guy by accident. Monroe had gone from not even knowing his name to trusting him implicitly before Harris even knew he’d been assigned the job. That had been a week before Charlie had arrived and he’d found himself promoted to captain the day after she’d shown up on their doorstep.

                By the third week it was very clear that although he was honestly putting forth an effort to do things the right way, he was working himself into a deep depression and to the point of exhaustion. She also suspected that he was very lonely. His worries were many and whereas he made it a point to _not_ act paranoid or crazy, he would soon be fighting a losing battle if things didn’t change for him.

                “What about Florida?” Charlie asked. They were sitting at his desk, going over the amended treaty for Texas. There was a promise to send aid as needed but the cost would be very high and it might not be enough to see them past the winter, despite the fact that the financial effects would hurt the Republic for years to come.

                “What about it?” Monroe asked, looking up. Florida had remained fairly cut off since the bombs had dropped and had become autonomous under the leadership of one Governor Jeffrey Jackson.

                “The growing season is year round, right? If you annexed Florida and sent workers to help, you might get a better yield throughout the season. It wouldn’t be enough for the entire country, but if you added it to what Texas is willing to send it could help,” she suggested. Deep down, she was almost starting to like her job, although she was still loath to admit it to him.

                Monroe sat back and thought about it, his hands drumming lightly on the edge of the desk. “They’d never go for it. We’d have to take them by force, which is something I’m trying _not_ to do, remember? That’s why we ended up at war with Georgia for so long the first time around. That’s the last thing I want right now—not to mention the fact that the Republic is basically broke. We can’t afford to go to war.”

                Charlie shook her head at him. “Did you and Miles ever _try_ a little diplomacy? You have to find the right thing to offer them. Give them an incentive.” She pushed a piece of paper in front of him. Harris had enlisted several lackeys to come up with a list of what goods came from where. “Florida can’t support large amounts of livestock and has no access to other things that are produced in various parts of the Republic—things like textiles and lamp oil. So, offer them a promise of those supplies in return for joining the Republic and increasing their crop yields. They don’t have enough people to farm their land? Well, we have more than enough hungry people up north.”

                He just looked at her, in awe. Where had this amazing creature come from? “That could work… We’d more than likely have to allow them some measure of autonomy though. They could be like our Puerto Rico…” He caught the look she sent him indicating that she had no idea what Puerto Rico was and he should damn well know that. “It’s an island in… you know what, it’s not important.”

                She gestured towards the list. “Anyway, we know part of the problem up north is that there isn’t enough food to go around. People eat what is produced regionally. There is more than enough land down south, but again, not enough people to farm it. Offer free land or tax breaks or whatever to get them to move south and farm rather than sit idle where the growing season is shorter. If there’s a surplus down south then you can send it up north later. The entire Republic has to work together.”

                Charlie looked at him meaningfully. “Before, everyone sent stuff to Philly, but not to other parts of the Republic. I sat and watched an entire batch of soft cheese go bad in Wisconsin because we’d sent what we were required as taxes and had more left over than we could use. It never occurred to anyone in charge of Sylvania Estates to send it to Cincinnati or Chicago in trade, let alone just to get rid of it before it spoiled.”

                They went back and forth over the next several hours, coming up with several strategies to solve their immediate problems and prevent things from getting so dire in the future. He made no attempts to hide the fact that he was a soldier, not a politician. Still, most of the things he’d come up with on his own were along the same lines of what they’d worked out together now. It wasn’t that they were bad ideas. There was really no reason why his plans weren’t working, except for the fact that it was too much for one person to implement and keep track of alone.

                The majority of the people that were working under him were good soldiers, when they weren’t out to improve their own lots in life, but that’s all they were. Most of them did not have the experience or motivation to help him when it came to dealing with food supply chains and the like. The United States before the blackout had entire departments dedicated to agriculture, industry, trade, transportation etc. He was trying to govern a nation a third of that size all by himself.  

                In Charlie’s mind, it was little wonder that he’d gone insane the first time and was working himself to death the second time around. Even with her presence and help it was a huge undertaking and it was obvious that he still wasn’t sleeping or taking care of himself properly—even if he had at least taken the time to finally get that haircut and had been at least stopping to eat on occasion.

                By the end of the day he’d outlined several policy changes and he’d formed a response to the treaty. _This is what I needed… A fresh perspective,_ he thought as he watched her retreat to seek her supper. They’d gotten more done in the past few weeks than he’d done in the previous two months and although he was still carrying a thousand worries and problems it didn’t seem as overwhelming as before.

                He was in the middle of writing a letter to Blanchard to go along with the treaty when the door to his office opened once more. He knew it was her. Charlie was the only person that walked in on him without bothering to knock. Harris no longer waited for an invitation to enter during working hours, but at least he made it a point to rap on the door at least once or twice before barging in.

                He stopped writing to look up at her, thinking she’d probably forgotten something when she’d left. She’d changed and was dressed like she was headed out for the evening. The blouse and long skirt she wore concealed everything, but were tight enough that with her trim figure they left little to the imagination. This was a far cry from the warrior she’d been in Texas. “What’s with the getup?” he asked, trying to hide the fact that he was enjoying the view from both Charlie and himself.

                “When’s the last time you’ve left this building?” she asked, snapping his attention to her face.

                Monroe had to struggle to focus long enough to form words and turn them into a complete sentence. “It’s been a while.”

                “Get out of that chair, get changed and meet me downstairs. You’ve become a recluse and the staff are starting to think you’re creepy. We’re going out.” She headed back towards the door. “And for the love of God, wear something other than your uniform.”

                Before he could respond, she was gone and the door was closed once more. “Yes ma’am,” he murmured, still sitting behind his desk and staring blankly ahead. _What the hell just happened?_ In a daze, he went into his quarters and started digging through the closet for something non-uniform to wear. Sadly, the only thing he could find were the clothes he’d worn in Texas. _Creepy?_

                The fact that people would find it odd if he didn’t go out wasn’t something he’d considered before. Then again, Jeremy Baker had urged him on multiple occasions to get out and stop living like a hermit in Philly. He forced back the memory of the last time he’d let Baker convince him to leave Independence Hall as he got dressed.

                He looked into the mirror as he put on his old leather jacket. It fit him like an old friend. He hadn’t worn it or anything other than his uniform since he’d first arrived in Nashville. He paused by the door before returning to grab a gun and check the clip. If he was leaving the compound, he sure as hell wasn’t doing it unarmed. After strapping on his sword belt he headed down to meet her.

                She took in his appearance. If it wasn’t for the fact that they were in Nashville and she’d just spent the past couple of weeks helping him go over legislation and treaties, she could have sworn by the sight of him that they were still in Texas. “Seriously?” she asked as she raised a brown at him.

                “What? I’m not wearing a uniform,” he insisted.

                “Do you even own anything else?” She looked him over. The sword belt he wore wasn’t the fancy one that went with the trappings of General of the Monroe Militia. It was the old and worn one he’d picked up from the bounty hunters that had taken him from New Vegas—the very swords that he’d used when he’d saved her life in Pottsboro and that he’d fought with in the months that followed.

                “No,” he replied. He could feel the blush rising to his cheeks. There was something about the way she was staring at him that had him feeling flustered.

                “Come on then,” Charlie said, trying her best to hide her amusement at his obvious discomfort. _Fair is fair,_ she thought to herself. She’d caught him giving her the once over when she’d come to his office to extend her very forceful invitation. As far as she was concerned he deserved to know what it felt like. They were almost to the seldom used side door past the kitchen when she stopped and turned. “Wait a minute. Where’s your security detail?”

                Monroe rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I sort of… dismissed them.”

                “For the evening?” She was bewildered. The General Monroe of the past had never gone anywhere in Philly without one, or so Miles had told her once.

                “Indefinitely.”

                She pulled him aside, out of the earshot of the kitchen staff, who were eyeing them with interest. “Why would you do that?”

                “Because I…” He hesitated. “Look, in Philly, I got really bad, okay? After I sent Connor to Jasper, I started feeling a little paranoid. So, I dismissed them…” the confession was hard for him. How could she possibly understand? It was bad enough to constantly look over your shoulder, wondering if your own son had people on the inside helping him plot against you. Having six men constantly following him around only seemed to exacerbate those feelings. “With them gone, things feel a bit more normal. That’s why I don’t leave the compound.”

                “Well, maybe we should have Harris get a few guards for us,” she said thoughtfully. Watching the man she’d promised to help get assassinated wasn’t her idea of a good time.

                Monroe was firmly against it. “You want me to get out for a few hours? Well, I’m not doing it if I’m stuck tripping over body guards all night.” He took a step closer to her. “Look, it’s been months since I’ve left. If we’re careful, I probably won’t even be recognized since I’m out of uniform.”

 “Well at least you’re armed,” she murmured as he took the jacket she carried. She turned around and allowed him to slip it over her shoulders. _And people say chivalry is dead,_ she thought with a grin.

                They found themselves sitting at a table outside of a little pub on the outskirts of town. Torches had been lit so that the patrons that chose to sit there could see the drinks in front of them. Somewhere nearby an impromptu jam session had started with several men playing guitars and singling along to old country songs that Charlie had never heard before. The scene around the pub reminded her of the town square in Willoughby.

                So far they’d lucked out and no one had even suspected that their president was among them. He’d never realized how liberating it would feel to get out after so many months being cooped up inside the capitol. The problems that plagued the rest of the troubled nation had not yet reached Nashville as severely, so most people seemed happy and at ease. Then again the same had been true of Philly once. If they couldn’t get things to turn around it was only a matter of time before people would be tightening their belts and cursing his name here as well.

                Early fall or not, a cold snap had just set in and the air was just brisk and it had sent most of the other patrons inside, but it wasn’t bad enough to discourage them. At least here they could hear the music and were less likely to be noticed. It was almost like they were in their own little world apart from the others. “Why Monroe, is that an actual smile I see?” Charlie asked quietly so as to not be overheard.

                “Bass.”

                “Huh?” she asked.

                “I have a name, use it.” He didn’t know why it mattered so much that she stop calling him by his surname, but at that moment he couldn’t think of a thing that took more precedence. She’d never called him anything else. It had never bothered him before, but things were different. He found that it annoyed the hell out of him now.

                Charlie chuckled at him. “Okay, Bass then. So why the shit eating grin?”

                He shrugged trying to appear more casual than he felt. “I don’t know. This is just… nice. It feels normal. I can’t remember the last time life felt normal. It’s probably been since before the blackout.”

                He picked up his glass and went to take a drink. Charlie clicked her glass to his. “To normal then,” she said as she raised it to her lips and downed its contents.

                He could see the flush on her cheeks. Charlie Matheson was buzzed. And, if he was to be honest, so was he. He wasn’t exactly drunk, but that perfect warm and fuzzy feeling that came when you had just enough to feel good but not so much that you were out of control—happy but not about to do anything stupid.

                Of course it occurred to him that they really should be calling it a night before they got drunk enough to do something stupid. Try as he might he couldn’t quite force himself to suggest it. After spending a lot of drunk and lonely nights in absolute misery, he wasn’t ready to go back to the prison he’d created for himself quite yet. _Besides, you’re usually a lot more trashed by this time of night_ , he silently reasoned.

                Just then the band started playing another song. Several couples from inside the bar had wandered out into the street and had begun to dance. He rose from his chair and held a hand out to her. “Dance with me.”

                “Excuse me?” she asked suspiciously.

                That flustered smile found its way back to his face, lending him a boyishness that she hadn’t noticed before. “Dance with me,” he repeated. When she still sat there looking incredulous he shook his head at her. “It’s not a marriage proposal, it’s just a dance.”

                Charlie eventually accepted his hand and slowly rose. She let him lead her to where the other couples were swaying. She’d never been one to dance really, but the way he asked her was alarming adorable and benign that once she’d gotten over her shock at him suggesting it at all, she hadn’t been able to refuse.

                He pulled her into his arms and led her into the dance, moving her about in time to the music while one of the players crooned on in his rich tenor about love found and lost again. As they moved around the other couples, he looked down at her with an intensity that brought back memories of the man she’d traveled beside in Texas, of the camaraderie they’d once shared. It had petered out little by little once they’d arrived in Willoughby, but every now and again she’d catch him looking at her as he did now.

                By the time they’d returned from New Vegas, he’d stopped looking at her all together. It wasn’t until that night by the train that he’d willingly met her with his intense gaze again. It was just after he’d stopped Tom Neville from shooting through Miles to get to her.

                Neville had said it was because Monroe was unable to deny anything for his “precious Miles,” but the man had been unconscious when he’d given her that same heated and longing glance. Later when she found out how much helping her family with Texas had cost him, she wondered if there was something more to the way he’d looked at her. When her mother had been thanking him for not fucking them all over outside that church, it hadn’t been Rachel he’d stared at, after all.

                Now as the music played and he spun her around she saw a shred of a different man trying to escape from the gruff and cold exterior. In the past three weeks she’d seen the internal war he waged as he tried to hold it together and she’d learned that there was more to him than she’d ever realized.

                The fact that he’d turned to her as a final act of desperation seemed at this moment to hold more significance than it had before. It was as if he wanted something more than a backup plan, but for the life of her she couldn’t figure out what.

                Before long the song ended and the moment was gone. He led her back to the table. “We should be getting back,” he murmured. “It’s only a matter of time before someone recognizes me.” He seemed almost wistful as he handed her a bag of diamonds so she could go inside and pay for their meal and drinks. He waited in the shadows for her to return. The bar was too crowded for him to risk going inside.

                When she returned they made their way back in silence. Charlie was in utter confusion as to the change in his demeanor. He’d been open with her from the moment she’d gotten to Nashville and all of the sudden he’d completely closed himself off after that dance. He wasn’t cold or mean, just shuttered in.

                Monroe didn’t speak at all on the way back to the compound because he didn’t quite trust himself. Asking her to dance was not a wise move on his part, however much he’d enjoyed it—and it was overwhelming how much he had. Enjoying her company was _not_ what he’d written her for, and he knew life would go a lot smoother if he remembered that.

                She was here because he had been fighting a losing battle with himself and his own administration. He’d known within the first six months that he wasn’t fit to lead a country, but he’d made his presidential bed and now he was stuck lying in it because there was no other. What started as a last ditch effort to keep his head above water seemed already like it would pay off, but he had to remind himself that’s where it had to end. Now that they were finally starting to get somewhere, he couldn’t lose sight of that now.

                He’d already written the change in the law that would allow her to take over as President of the Monroe Republic. Technically if he were to die tomorrow, the job was already hers. She was here to help him fix this disaster he’d created for himself. She was not here for him to develop (or rekindle) an attraction or feelings for her. So yes, dancing with her had been a huge mistake because it had felt too damn good and had sent his mind places that it had no right to be.

                Always the gentleman, despite rumors to the contrary, he still walked her to the doors that led to her office and private quarters, which were located just down the hall from his own. “Thank you, for tonight,” he said.

                His voice sounded so sad and for a split second he let his guard down again. She could almost see the longing in his eyes before the mask came back down and he turned to walk away. “Bass?” She waited for him to stop and look back at her. “Are you okay?”

                Monroe smiled weakly at her. “It’s just been a long day. Goodnight,” he replied before retreating to his lonely rooms.

                Charlie went into her room and got ready for bed. As she climbed under the covers she couldn’t get him out of her mind. _For a second there, I could have sworn he was going to kiss me,_ she thought to herself. _For a second there, I might have let him._

Monroe stared at the ceiling for quite some time before he slowly started to doze off. A few hours later he awoke from a dream: blue eyes boring into his, learning his secrets and tempting him beyond his ability to endure; the feel of a warm body next to his and soft arms around him, holding him close. He’d woken up with his heart pounding in his chest and an uncomfortable throbbing between his legs. “Nope, I definitely shouldn’t have danced with her,” he grumbled.

                Still, what was a man to do? Thoughts of the young woman in question drifted in and out of his mind as he quickly worked his way out of his current predicament. It didn’t take long and within minutes of washing his hands in the basin and returning to bed he was asleep again. In the morning he would wake up for the first time in ages feeling rested and sans hangover. He would, however also spend the next few days too embarrassed to look her in the eyes without thinking of that dream (and what followed) and blushing.


	5. Lonely? Here's Some Friends. Now What?

                As time passed, Charlie worked diligently with Monroe to try and fix the disaster he’d inadvertently created when he took on controlling all of the viable land east of the Mississippi River. What had at first seemed like arrogance on his part eventually revealed itself to be a happy (or in his reality, unhappy) accident. He’d only set out to reclaim what was left of his old Republic at first. The rest of it had just sort of fallen into his lap.

                The first few days after their venture into town had been extremely awkward. For him, it had been because the evening rekindled an attraction he’d thought he’d eradicated when he had caught her with Connor in New Vegas. For Charlie, it was only awkward in that she could see he was going out of his way to be painstakingly professional to the point where it was almost annoying, and she couldn’t quite figure out why. As far as she was concerned, they’d shared a meal and a few drinks and had a few minutes of fun—nothing had happened that should have caused him such an acute case of embarrassment.

                Despite it all, being sequestered with someone for hours on end had a way of building a relationship, whether he’d been looking for one or not. His reluctance to let any of the higher ranking soldiers that lived and worked in Nashville get close to him (no matter how much closer to his age they were) meant that Monroe spent the majority of his time with Charlie and to some extent, Harris.

                Even when he was “off the clock” (if there was such thing for a president), he found himself in their company. Even though he sometimes felt like an old man crashing a frat party around them, it was easier to spend time with people he trusted than it was to let his guard down around people that just might stab him in the back later. The only other option for him was to lock himself up in his quarters, and he was simply tired of being lonely and left alone to get lost in his own head for that to continue.

                Because Harris acted as a go between both professionally and personally, the young captain was privy to almost every aspect of Monroe’s life at any rate. And Charlie, well she was Charlie. She was the only link he had to almost every phase of his adult life. She represented the surrogate family that was; the beginning of the end of the old Republic and his abrupt emergence from the madness that almost destroyed him—not to mention the beginning of the slippery slope that was his road to redemption.

                It was hard to not get close to both of them in these circumstances—especially Charlie. If he had to constantly remind himself that his friendship with her had to remain platonic, well so be it. In his lifetime he’d been attracted to countless women; being attracted to a woman didn’t mean he had to sleep with her (although he had with the vast majority of them). The opportunity she offered with her presence in Nashville was far too great for him to risk anything more than friendship. And, for one such as himself, the friendship itself became far too important for him to risk throwing away just to appease his libido.

                A few weeks after the dance that should never have been, Monroe and Harris sat in the library with glasses of whiskey, playing cards. The guards that had joined them earlier had already left (their presence had been an attempt on Charlie’s part to make sure he was well acquainted with those charged with his protection) and Charlie had vanished shortly after dinner rather than join them as usual.

                “Canasta,” Harris said as he laid down seven cards before playing the rest and discarding.

                “Damn,” Monroe muttered as he tossed his hand down. He downed his drink while Harris collected the cards for the next deal. _Why are we playing this?_   This was hardly a comparison to wild nights of fighting and roulette in New Vegas.

                “I wonder where Miss Matheson has wandered off too,” Harris said casually as he shuffled the deck. 

                Monroe raised an eyebrow at the younger man as he downed what was left in his glass. “Who knows?” He refilled his glass from the bottle on the table and then topped off Harris’ as well. “You two seem awfully… chummy,” he added.

                Harris dealt and then picked up his cards, concentrating on sorting them in his hand. “Yeah, well we had to become friends. You know, join forces to keep you from working us to death… sir.”

                Monroe had to chuckle at that. “If you’re going to sit here and drink my whiskey, don’t call me that. I’m off the clock. Not like anyone’s here to hear you anyway.”

                “What am I supposed to call you then?”

                “Sebastian, Bass. Hell, call me Dickhead for all I care. Just not ‘sir,’ ‘General,’ or ‘Mr. President.’ It all gets old after a while.”

                “Yes sir, Mr. President Dickhead… Sir,” he replied with a smirk as he drew a card and tried to keep a straight face. He realized he may have just crossed a line there, but sometimes he really couldn’t help himself.

                Monroe stopped for a second, trying to decide if he was offended or not. He watched his opponent carefully as he sorted through his cards again, most likely waiting to see if he was going to be dressed down for the comment. Instead of the warning he probably should have given, Monroe laughed. He had to admit the kid had some brass and he’d kind of left himself wide open for it. “So tell me, Shawn. Why are you sitting here playing cards with me and asking about Charlie instead of finding out what she’s doing yourself?”

                The way Harris had mentioned Charlie had just given his lightly buzzed mind an inspired idea. He’d spent more time than he was proud to admit trying not to look at her lately. He had to find a way to make her unavailable to him. It was the only thing he could think of to retain his sanity and keep from fucking up what they had.

                The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a good idea. It had worked long ago in Texas, after all. She was only a few years younger than his secretary. In all actuality the two would probably make a decent couple; the kid seemed interested at the very least. Why else would he care where she was?

                “Why would I want to do that?” He asked as he discarded. “Pile is frozen,” he commented as he gestured to the joker he’d just played.

                Monroe narrowed his eyes at him. Harris was a ruthless card player, even if it was only canasta—they’d been at it for an hour and the kid was beating him quite soundly.  “Why not? She’s about your age, smart, pretty. And there’s even a chance she might not be able to kick your ass—at least there will be with a few more weeks of training.”

                When Charlie had insisted he get outside very now and again, he’d taken it upon himself to work with Harris at swordplay in the afternoons. She’d really meant leaving the compound, but he figured challenging Harris to a few sparring matches was a decent compromise. When the young man had shown a lot of promise, he’d decided to work with him. _That_ was actually something about forming the Militia that he’d actually enjoyed once.

                “She’s not exactly my type,” Harris confessed as he waited for him play or discard.

                “Really?” The question got him an incredulous look. “Oh… gotcha,” he added when he put two and two together. He made a few melds and then discarded, watching Harris while he played. It wasn’t like he had a problem with the man’s orientation, as much as he was surprised by it. In truth really could give a fuck less who he or anyone else slept with. _Even so…_ “You know, Shawn this--”

                The captain cut him off. “Don’t worry. You’re not my type either,” he assured his boss with a roll of the eyes. “You’re too… fuzzy. And a bit old for me, don’t you think?”

                Monroe waited for his turn and stared at the cards in his hands. “I’m _not_ old,” he grumbled under his breath. He slapped his discard down, as much annoyed with the fact his age had just been called into question as he was with his shitty hand.

                “Why would you try and push me at her to begin with? The household staff is convinced you’ve got a crush.”

                Monroe watched as Harris picked up the entire discard pile and started arranging his now much larger hand. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

                “Sure you don’t,” he laughed as he started playing cards out on the table. “I’m out,” he said as he laid his last card down.

                “I hate this game,” Monroe snapped as he threw down his cards again. “Can’t we just get drunk?”

                “Yes sir,” Harris replied, ignoring the dirty look he was given at his deliberate use of the title.

                Later that evening Monroe was headed to his quarters when he happened to run into the object of his not-so-secret obsession in the hallway. “Oh, you’re back,” he murmured, trying very hard to hide that he was fairly well plowed.

                “Have fun playing cards?” Charlie asked innocently enough. She’d been out hitting a few of the local pubs. Although she’d enjoyed herself immensely, her real reason for going out had been to listen for rumors. She was curious to see what the currently public opinion was—she’d learned early on in the evening that the opinions were quite mixed.

                Monroe leaned casually on the wall next to her door. “If you consider getting your ass kicked playing Canasta fun, then no. I swear Harris cheats,” he replied, trying his best not to slur. He grimaced at the way she laughed at him. “So how did you spend your evening?”

                “Went out, had a few drinks and a few laughs. Fended off a few local boys,” she said, smiling

                Monroe tried to not feel jealous. Really, he did—he just couldn’t help himself sometimes. “Oh, well…” He shut his mouth for a second and did his best to hold the feeling at bay. “I… Goodnight,” he said as he abruptly turned away.

                “Bass? What’s wrong?” she called after him.

                He considered the wisdom of turning around. Somewhere in the drunken haze of his mind he knew he should just keep on walking. Instead he stopped and faced her. “I’m the president of this shit dump and you’re kind of my closest advisor. Please tell me that you were at least discrete while you were bar hopping and trying to get laid.”

                Charlie flinched, like he’d just slapped her. “Excuse me? You have no right… What the fuck is your problem?” She was shaking with anger. He really had some kind of nerve.

                Monroe realized how much he’d fucked up the second the words had come out of his mouth. “Forget it,” he said before high tailing it to his own rooms as fast as he could.

                Charlie watched him go before opening the door and disappearing inside. There was something in the way he’d retreated that struck her as odd. He’d been a dick, of course but he’d also seemed so… defeated, like she’d hurt him somehow.

                Monroe was standing on the other side of his door. He leaned up against the wood as he considered what he’d just done. “Stupid… stupid… stupid.” He was disrupted from his current pity-party by a knock on his door. He carefully opened it to see Charlie standing there. The flash of anger she’d displayed was already gone.

                She stared up at him for a few minutes, taking in how wary he looked now. “What’s going on with you?”

                “I’m sorry. I was out of line. I…” He hesitated. “Just ignore me. I’m just an old drunk and an idiot.”

                “Well, I won’t deny the drunk part, or the idiot part for that matter. You were wrong, you know—about why I went out.”

                Monroe backed up a little into his room when she stepped forward. “You don’t have to explain yourself. It’s none of my business. Listen, it’s late and I’m tanked. I should just go to bed before I say something stupid—again.”

                Charlie decided to let him save what face he could. She could tell there was something else going on there, but knew that pressing him about it would only result in his retreating further. At some point they were going to have to have a long conversation about both this and that other night, but now was not the time. “It’s okay. I’ll forgive you—but just this once. Goodnight,” she said as she stepped back.

                “Goodnight,” he echoed softly as he closed the door. Later he was sprawled on his bed trying to pass out. “What the hell is the matter with you?” he asked aloud. He really did have a way of putting his foot in his mouth when it came to Charlie. _She’s just your friend and an employee; you don’t get to act like an ass…_

 

                 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fact that Harris is gay has nothing to do with the plot really other than the uncomfortable conversation between Monroe and his gopher amused me... That and it dashed his hopes of finding a "replacement" to make Charlie more off-limits to him. The story is yes a Charloe (I told you all slow burn, right?) But there's more than just a "hey we fight together" plot or a "uncontrollably attracted to you" side to the story. I wanted to establish a deeper relationship there.


	6. Trending: One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay in this next chapter. I was stuck at a point in the story where I had to decided where I wanted the story to go. I think I've got it figured out now though, so hopefully there won't be more than a day or two in between chapters. I was also trying to keep chapters a little smaller, but it's not really working out as well as I'd planned. This story is turning out to be more complicated than I'd originally intended it to be.
> 
> At any rate, thank you to all of those that have been awesome and offered encouragement , kudos and comments. I hope that everyone considers the long delay worth it in the end.

                It had been four months since Charlie had first shown up. Little by little Monroe’s days had gotten a little easier, and now he was to the point where he could at least get out of bed and start his day without dreading it. He was still overworked and their efforts may not have been entirely successful yet, but at least he had a glimmer of hope now.

                He was convinced that if they just kept it up and handled one thing at a time that something would start to give. Charlie’s natural talent for diplomacy and her fresh perspective went a long way towards implementing the ideas he’d already had as well as in helping him come up with new ones. He now knew that he’d the right decision when he’d written to her so rashly.

                He was more than prepared to have her presence and position as his successor made public, but she’d been arguing against being named Vice-President of the Monroe Republic outright. “Not yet. I’m still not sure that this will be permanent yet,” she’d told him more than once.

                “If you’re going to have any authority you have to have some kind of title,” he remarked as he emerged through the doors separating his office and his quarters, carrying a wrapped bundle. Charlie and Harris were already there waiting on him. “I’ve had you commissioned as a captain in the Militia.” 

                “You what?” Charlie turned to face him, exasperated.

                “It’s the way the whole thing is set up; you _know_ that. You have to have a rank, even if you don’t actually have soldiers under you. All the leeches do, so you have to have one too or they won’t respect you. At the very least, you have to be at or above Harris’ rank. I’d have made you a major but I figure you’d have just thrown a bigger fit.”

                He handed her the bundle then. “I swear you’ll only have to wear the uniform for official functions, and even those will only be when it’s unavoidable.”

                “Why are you doing this?” she asked, trying her best not to whine in front of Harris. She got it—he needed help and was just desperate enough to send for her as a surrogate Miles. She still didn’t understand why he was so insistent that she become president if something happened. She was too young and had no experience with this sort of thing. She was a fighter when she had to be, but to be in charge of the entire Militia was something else.

                “I told you—”

                “You can’t do this alone,” she finished for him.

                Monroe raised a brow at her as he sat down at his desk. “Have I been sounding just a little too much like a broken record?”             

                “Maybe just a little, _General_ ,” she replied with a wicked grin, her tone saccharine sweet.

                He offered her an annoyed glare, telling Charlie exactly what he thought of her use of that title before turning to Harris. “Make sure that this is announced to every staff member in the compound?” he said as he held out the latest set of instructions. He waited for the man to leave before he got back down to business with her.

                “That announcement outlines for everyone here what your role is. Since you won’t let me make you my VP, I had to find something else.”

                Charlie cocked her head to the side and eyed him suspiciously. “What did you do??”

                “I told you, you have to have an official position. I’ve named you my Chief of Staff.”

                “Your _what?_ ” Having been so young when the power went out, she’d had no idea how the government was run before and was unfamiliar with the title.

                “You’re the gatekeeper, Charlie. No one gets in without going through you first. In a way, you’re in charge of everyone here with an exception for me—in an official capacity. Unofficially, you’re job also entails continuing to make sure I don’t do anything stupid when no one’s looking. You’re even above Harris now, so have fun bossing him around.”

                He was adamant. If she didn’t accept, he didn’t know what else to do with her. At some point, people were going to start talking and thinking there was something a little more sordid about her presence. The last thing they needed was for everyone to start thinking they were sleeping together and that was how she held sway. It could undermine everything they were working on—that and it would make it all that much harder for him to remember to keep his hands to himself.

                Charlie could tell that he wasn’t going to let it drop. “Okay,” she finally said as she slumped into the chair she usually sat in when they were working together.

                Monroe just nodded and picked up a stack of papers. “These are the negotiations with Blanchard for the next shipment of food and another loan. This is your baby now.”

                “What?” She practically yelled it as she jumped back to her feet. Helping to strategize and hammer out polices was one thing, but taking an active role in getting the Republic further indebted to Texas something else entirely.

                “We need more food to get everyone through the rest of winter and we’re still broke. Without help from Blanchard we’re in serious trouble. I can’t feed everyone and on top of that, I can’t pay the Militia either. You saw what the result of that was the last time around. It’s not like someone can pick up a phone and call me to say there’s trouble. If factions start taking matters into their own hands, I won’t find out about it for weeks, if not longer.” On top of that, they needed those soldiers in place to protect the western border, where clan raids had picked up. They were always higher in the winter.

                “But why me?”

                “Because while Frank and I may have called a truce, we’re not exactly BFF’s. That and he’s a sucker for pretty girls. You’ll get a lot farther with him than I would,” he explained.

                “You do realize that if Blanchard knows I’m here, so will the rest of Texas,” she said meaningfully. “That means my family will find out.”

                Those words took him by surprise. “You didn’t tell them you were coming here?” Monroe hadn’t expected her family to approve, but he hadn’t even considered the fact that she’d just take off without telling them. He’d assumed all this time that they were quite unhappily aware of where she’d been all this time.

                “Of course not. They’d have only followed me. I figured that the last thing you wanted was my mom barging in your front door,” Charlie reasoned. “This only works if they don’t know—at least until I’ve decided if I’m staying.”

                He flopped down in his chair and stared off into space for a few minutes, lost in thought. He couldn’t help but be a little offended that she’d want to keep her presence a secret still, despite the fact she’d been helping him since October. She’d agreed to stay because he’d been able to prove to her that he was making a sincere effort here and in four months since, they’d become friends. The more he thought about it, the shittier he thought it was for her try to pretend to the outside world that none of this existed.

                “I’m not sure I’m okay with that, Charlie.” He pushed away from his desk and started to stand up, hurt and insulted. It was always something; the past was always there to haunt him. Pretty sad to be pushing fifty and one of his only was friends embarrassed to admit the connection to her own family—one that he used to be a part of.

                “Monroe—Bass…” she reached out and touched his arm to stop him. “Every time you and Miles get together something happens and you end up on the short end of the stick. I’m just trying to stop that from happening until things get more settled.”

                She felt a little guilty. She knew him well enough to know exactly what he was thinking and could tell how it offended him. And in some ways, he was right. How could she tell her mom that she’d befriended and was helping the man that they held responsible for Danny’s death? Unbeknownst to him, they’d given him a pass on Ben. He’d wanted him brought to Philly alive—he and Miles had once even sent a friendly invitation to the now ruined city.

                The past wasn’t the only thing giving her pause, however. She was starting to like being here too much. Letting it become public knowledge outside of Nashville would add a certain permanency in her own mind and it would hurt too much to leave if something happened. If her family showed up, it would most likely be to drag her away. On top of that, if it was a secret, she could still live in her happy little delusion that the past didn’t matter for just a while longer.

                His silence told her exactly how much her reluctance bothered him. “The last thing you need right now is Miles showing up. It could cause problems within the Militia and…”    

                “And you’re worried he’ll say or do something and I’ll go off the rails,” he finished for her, looking away in embarrassment. No one liked having their mental and emotional instability pointed out to them, no matter how true it might be. “I’ll inform Blanchard that your involvement is to remain confidential,” he added with a resigned sigh.

                “Thank you.”

                “You do realize that you’re going to have to go to Austin at some point, right? It’s going to be hard to hide your position in the Republic if you’re actually going there,” he pointed out. Monroe had already taken into consideration that if she left for Texas there was a risk she might not come back. Still, it couldn’t be avoided. He couldn’t very well leave now and she was the only other person he trusted to get it done.

                “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” she murmured thoughtfully before changing the subject and getting back to work.

**

                When Charlie finally reached the point in her negotiations with Blanchard that the trip to Austin was necessary, Monroe should have realized that her keeping her presence a secret was the least of his concerns. It was almost March and still it would be months before they’d see any results from the upcoming planting season. Blanchard was balking a little, concerned that the fledgling new incarnation of the Republic was getting just a bit too far into the red. His work with Florida was at a standstill for the moment and the aid from Texas was all they had to hope for. The coming months would be crucial in gaining self-reliance.             

                It seemed the second her train pulled away from the station, everything went to hell. Reports came out of Michigan that a rebel faction had decided to re-arm themselves and that Gray had taken it upon himself to strike back. In doing so, the civilian population had suffered heavy casualties—especially among those that had remained law abiding throughout the fighting. Monroe immediately recalled the entire 14th division. Having no other choice, he pulled portions of other divisions to cover the region. General Adams had balked, of course.

                His logic was that despite the massacre outside of Detroit, they didn’t have enough soldiers to recall Grey. Monroe knew that Adams was right, but couldn’t see any other option. They didn’t have the diamonds to conscript replacement troops so all he could do was pull from the 11th in Ohio, the 9th in Wisconsin and the 3rd in Nashville.

                By the time that Gray had arrived to answer for himself, the entire Republic was on the edge of revolting. They people wanted blood, but Monroe couldn’t give it to them. If he started executing officers for behavior that had been allowed once upon a time, the entire Militia would lose their faith in him. That would leave the entire Republic vulnerable. He was damned no matter what he did. Instead, Gray and the officers under him that were involved were instead sent to a work camp. They needed the labor if they were ever going to finish repairing that dam on the Ohio River that threatened to burst at any given moment, and when you were broke there was no labor like free labor.

                When all was said and done, Monroe ended up sending the lower level soldiers back into the field, but had split them up. He’d sent them out to replace the troops he’d pulled from Ohio and Wisconsin. He didn’t want them close to him so he sent some to Indianapolis and pulled troops from there to replace those stationed in the capitol. The few officers that had actually tried to prevent the bloodshed found themselves suddenly in charge of the new 14th division.

                By the time Charlie returned they were just recovering from the effects of the whole mess. She’d been gone a little over a month, and she found him as stressed out and on the edge as he ever was. At least the negotiations had been fairly successful. Blanchard had promised to send the additional aid and she’d even been able to work out better repayment terms. 

                He’d been working almost nonstop for weeks trying to fix the situation, sending Harris out with missives at all hours, driving both of them to the point of exhaustion. She could see it the second she stepped into his office. It was already almost time for dinner when she’d gotten back and she’d only intended on stopping in for a few minutes to tell him about the negotiations. She almost did a double take when she saw him sitting there. “That’s it, get up from that chair. You’re taking a break.”

                “I don’t have the time, Charlie,” he mumbled as he signed another missive. He began to review what he’d written before sending it on its way. In the past weeks, Harris had been forced to take on three more couriers just to handle the paperwork going from Monroe’s desk to various locations in the city and beyond.

                “You look like shit. When’s the last time you really slept?” she argued as she plucked the pen out of his hand.

                He ignored her and made a grab for the pen. He was too tired to chase her around the room for it, so when she jumped back to keep it out of his immediate reach he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, with every indication that he was going to start pouting soon. “Come on Charlie, I can’t do this right now. I’ve got people waiting for orders, so I kind of need to write them.”

                “The world won’t end if they wait until tomorrow. I know you. You probably haven’t slept for shit in days and you’ve probably been drinking your breakfast, lunch and dinner. You’re going to eat something and then you’re going to take the evening off. I swear I’ll have Dr. Barnes drug you if you don’t.”

                “And I’ll help her hold you down so he can do it,” Harris said as he came into the room. He was beyond exhausted from the constant running. The more Monroe worked, the more he had to as well. “I’ll _never_ get a break otherwise.”

                Monroe offered them both an angry scowl. “You both do realize that I’m kind of _your_ boss, right? Not the other way around?”

                Charlie threw her hands up in exasperation. “And do _you_ realize that we’re your friends and we’re only trying to help you since you’re too stubborn and stupid to help yourself?” She reached over and snatched the bottle off the corner of his desk, handing it off to Harris to remove from the room. “I’ll think you’ll find that Sally has forgotten to send someone to on a whiskey run until you get some rest.” She leaned over the desk and arched her brow in challenge.

                Monroe was smart enough to know when he’d been outmaneuvered. With a resigned sigh he pushed away from his desk. He got up and headed to his quarters. “I swear I’m charging you both with treason, just as soon as I work up the energy to do it,” he grumbled as he walked past them. Satisfied, Charlie went to see about getting him something to eat. By the time Sally had a plate sat up, he could barely keep his eyes open, but Charlie insisted on sitting there until he ate all the same.

                “You’re going to work yourself to death,” she told him as she collected what was left of his dinner and went to set it on his desk, making a note to have a maid come for it later.

                She rejoined him in the small sitting room outside of his bedroom. Despite her insistence that he not work, she knew he’d want to know how things went in Austin. He had a glass in his hand when she returned.

                “What?” Monroe said innocently enough at the glare she shot him. “I’ve been a functioning alcoholic for over twenty-five years. You don’t think I have it hidden everywhere? I guarantee you that Miles have bottles all over the place too—he’d have to, considering he lives with your mother.” It was no secret that Rachel disapproved of Miles’ tendency to overindulge. Monroe always figured that it reminded her too much of who Miles used to drink with—namely, him.

                “If you keep it up, you’re going to drink yourself to death way before the work and the stress do it,” she snapped.

                “And there’d be much rejoicing,” he commented as got up to refill his glass and bring her one as well. She was, after all a Matheson. He wondered if she ever realized that Ben had always shared his brother’s love of whiskey—albeit with a lot more discretion.

                “Why do you always do that?” Charlie asked as she took the offered drink.

                He settled back into his chair. “Do what?”

                “You know exactly what. Whenever any of us show any concern for your sorry ass, you completely deflect it.”

                Monroe only shrugged. “Because you shouldn’t care. I don’t deserve it and you’ll only regret it later. For the most part, everyone else who ever gave a shit has.” Uncomfortable, he got up and went to retreat, obviously dismissing her.

                She followed him and stopped him in the doorway, her hand on his shoulder. Unable to help himself, he turned to face her. “Well that’s too damn bad, because I _do_ care.”

                He didn’t know why but those words seemed to lash at him more than any insult could have. Her proclamation had a lump forming in his throat. Before he even realized what he was doing, Monroe reached out and brushed a lock of hair back behind her ear. Instead of pulling back, she only seemed to lean in closer. He opened his mouth to say something, but for the life of him couldn’t think of a single word to say.

                “You look like you’re ready to drop right here,” she murmured. “Promise me you’ll at least try to sleep?” When he nodded his reply she stood on her toes and pressed her lips gently to his. It was just for a half a second and was as chaste of a kiss as it could be, but it was still a kiss none the less. “Good night then, Bass.”

                “Charlie,” he called after her as she started to walk away. She didn’t turn back around, but stopped. “Thank you… for caring.”

                He stood in the doorway and watched her retreat; his hands clenched to stop him from doing something stupid. A few minutes later he managed to crawl into bed without further incident or another drink. Before giving in to sleep, his hand came up to his lips. _What the hell did she do that for?_

 


	7. Just Trying To Be Helpful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, the slow burn has finally led to something. Our boy can only resist temptation for so long, especially when that temptation has finally decided to force a confrontation. Enjoy the smutty goodness! Also, please excuse errors. I don’t use a beta and I was trying to edit while the kids were running around. I just wanted to get the darn chapter up already!

                Despite promises to Charlie to take some time to wind down, Monroe still felt like he’d been burning at both ends over the next several weeks. After that night she’d kissed him, he spent as much time worrying about keeping himself under control and preventing a repeat of that evening as he did worrying about the Republic. It had thrown him off balance for several days. As much as he wished it meant something, he couldn’t let it. That didn’t stop him from spending more time than he ought to wondering exactly what it had meant, however.

                So, he’d fumbled around her for a day or two, avoided her for a few more and ultimately moved his private quarters to the floor above hers, just to make sure he kept himself put at night. The temptation to confront her about it at inappropriate hours was just too much to risk having her so close. Of course he didn’t want to make it seem like he was running away from her, so he’d simply expanded is office take over all three rooms.

                When she’d questioned him, he’d simply told her that if she wanted him to stop working at some point, he needed to separate his living space from his work space and that his office was so crowded it was making him feel claustrophobic with so many people running in and out all day. In his mind, there was no way she could argue with that logic. It was bullshit, but he’d never willingly admit that he was essentially terrified of a woman half his age or his increasingly complicated feelings for her.

                Charlie let him get away with that excuse for almost two weeks before she decided to confront him on it. She’d been tossing and turning in bed all night. Every time she was almost asleep she’d hear him moving about above her. This was the fourth night in a row she’d suffered through his movements and was quite simply fed up.

                He was sitting on the couch in his front room. His bare feet were up on the coffee table, a glass of whiskey in one hand and a stack of reports in his lap. When she barged in the door, he didn’t even have time to hide the paperwork. “Ah ha! I knew it!”

                Monroe looked up at her, refusing to act guilty. After all, it was the middle of the night and she was in his private quarters. She was the one who should be in trouble, not him—or so he kept telling himself. “You do realize it’s like two in the morning, right?” His words slurred just a little. He’d been drinking since retreating shortly after dinner, but had yet to have enough to keep both the state of the Republic or her out of his mind so he could sleep.

                She shut the door and crossed the room to stand in front of him, “Actually it’s closer to three, so you’re the one who’s lost track of time.”  She hadn’t actually been inside his new quarters and she had to make a concentrated effort not to be impressed by them. They were actually quite a bit bigger and nicer than his old ones, if this room was of any indication. “What happened to _I’m only moving so I can go off-duty at night_?”

                Monroe narrowed his eyes at the way she mimicked him. If it were any other circumstance, he might have found it funny. As it was, her presence now served to only make him a little nervous and had the unwanted side effect of sobering him instantly. How was he supposed to keep his head straight when she stood there before him, her hands on her hips, clad in only a thin tank top and an old pair of sweatpants? “I was—I mean, I…”

                “Save the bullshit. You moved up here so we wouldn’t catch you doing this,” she snapped as she gestured to the half empty bottle and a second stack of papers that sat on the coffee table. “You’re supposed to stop the twenty-hour work days before you drive yourself nuts.”

                _Yeah, because work’s the only thing doing that_ , he thought to himself. Monroe snatched the bottle up before Charlie had a chance to take it from him. He could tell that’s where this was headed. It was a childish move on his part to be sure, but if it saved him his whiskey so be it. “Back off, Charlie.  I’ve told you before; I don’t have time to take a break.”

                She just glared at him. The shadows under his eyes were getting darker by the day and the stress was still taking its toll. She knew it and so did Harris. If the rest of the higher ups started to pick up on it, it could spell disaster—especially when there was already dissension in the ranks. “You’re burning out. Can’t you see that? You can’t do it all.”

                She sat down next to him on the sofa, picking up a folder to get it out of her way. “You brought me here because you needed help. I’m not a politician and we both know it. Your problem has never been the past coming back to haunt you or that you’re not fit to rule—that’s just an excuse. Your problem is that you can’t handle the stress of it, and you’re too proud to admit it.” Her tone had softened considerably. “No one could handle this all on their own. You don’t need an advisor or a chief of staff. You need dozens of people to help run all of this. That’s how Texas works and from what I’ve read, that’s how the old U.S. ran as well.

                “But, you’re surrounded by enough backstabbing idiots that you can’t delegate the work out, I get it.” Reaching out, she took a risk and reached up to touch his cheek. “Trips to Austin aside, _this_ is why I’m here—you have to slow down, because _this_ is what’s going to turn you back into _him._ ”

                He wanted to lean into her touch. He craved it like he craved another drink or his next breath, but Monroe couldn’t let himself go down that road. Instead of giving in to that urge he pulled back from her—but not before hesitating just long enough for Charlie to see through the act. “I brought you here to help me straighten out this mess and to be an emergency successor so Connor didn’t get any bright ideas. I didn’t write to you because I needed a babysitter,” he insisted.

                Charlie shook her head. “Give me some credit, Bass. I’m smart enough to read between the lines, so cut the crap. When you wrote that letter, you were tired and lonely and you just wanted someone in this with you that gave a damn.” She inched closer to him. “Your exact words were that you needed an advisor that wasn’t afraid to speak candidly. This is me doing exactly that. I’m your friend—let me help you.”

                When Monroe’s fight or flight instincts typically kicked in, he almost exclusively reacted with the former, but her proximity had him retreating out of self-preservation. He slowly scooted further towards the end of the couch, “What-- what are you doing?” he stammered when Charlie followed him. He was almost sitting on the arm rest now and had nowhere else to go unless he got up completely. He wasn’t willing to look like a total coward—yet.

                “Why do you always back away from me? It’s like you slip up and let me in and then run away as fast as you can. Why are you trying so hard to act like you don’t want something more? Haven’t we gotten past that?” The look in her eyes and softness of her voice made her look so wounded and vulnerable.

                He swallowed nervously. He needed to do something with his hands to keep them from reaching out of their own volition, so he reached for the bottle of whiskey, almost knocking over in the process. He poured himself a drink, his hands shaking a little. He had only one defense left in his rapidly diminishing playbook: lie. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said as he downed the contents of his glass.

                “Bullshit,” she said as she took the glass out of his hand, setting it on the coffee table. “It’s like after the night I dragged you out with me. One minute we were dancing and you were actually having fun for once. The next, you clammed up, but when you walked me to my room when we got back and for a second there…” _He what? Did you imagine it?_ “Why did you back off like that?”

                “I… Listen, we were both drinking that night. I didn’t want to take advantage of you. That’s not why you’re here. I have more respect for you than that.” _Is this really happening?_

                Charlie shrank back just a little, her ego slightly deflated. “So you really don’t think of me that way?” She was beginning to have her doubts about this mess she’d just created. In her experience when a man said something about having respect, it was usually a nice way of letting a woman know he wasn’t interested—the guy version of the friend zone.

                _Keep your mouth shut. She just gave you an out, take it stupid!_ “You have no idea how hard it is to _not_ think of you like that— and I swear you go out of your way to make it an uphill battle.” He started to panic the moment he realized what he was saying. _What are you doing, dummy? Why did you say that?_

His ill-timed confession gave her all the encouragement she needed. Charlie leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his. Monroe’s eyes shut of their own accord and for a few minutes their lips moved gently together and the rest of the room seemed to fade away. He let it go on just like that, not deepening the kiss, just savoring before he broke it off. His eyes fluttered open and were immediately captured in her gaze.

                “Charlie, I don’t… We can’t… Fuck.” The last of his willpower dissipated and he yanked her across his lap. Hand cupping the back of her head, he pulled her lips to his and gave in to almost three years of yearning. Her gasp of surprise gave him the opening he needed to delve in and he didn’t let it go to waste. The instant their tongues met, his brain stopped working and instinct took over. He tangled his hands in her hair, groaning as he tasted her and explored her mouth with all the desperation he’d been trying so hard to hide.

                Charlie kissed him back with everything she had, twisting in his arms to straddle his lap. She rested one hand on his chest, feeling his heart hammering beneath it. She could feel the hardness growing under her and she ground down on it, whimpering as she did so.

                Monroe slid one hand down her back, fingers digging in and massaging her until it rested at her waist. Encouraged and anxious to remove all barriers between them, she found the bottom of his tee shirt. She started to yank it up. He leaned forward and broke away long enough to work it over his head, tossing it aside.

                Charlie took this as the perfect opportunity to remove her own. Once feed from the offending material, they came together again. Panting and chests heaving, their lips melted together briefly before he moved down, pressing his lips down the column of her neck, tasting the skin as he worked towards her breasts, groaning at the sight of her.

                His calloused palms moved deliciously along her soft skin and she arched her back, encouraging him further. She moaned as his tongue ran across one pert nipple and then the other. “Beautiful,” he murmured before drawing one into his mouth and suckling gently. Her sharp intake of breath at the stimulation had him sucking harder, lightly scraping it with his teeth, overwhelming her senses. He flicked her nipple a few more times with his tongue and then slid his hands to her hips, lifting her off of him.

                Charlie swayed a little on her feet, her eyes glazed with passion. Monroe couldn’t help but grin in satisfaction. He bent his head to pressed light kisses on her flat stomach as he eased her pants down; her panties following quickly after. She kicked them away and stood before him completely nude and waiting for him to touch her, her skin flush with her arousal.

                He parted her folds and found her entrance. She soaked his fingers as he plied her. He looked up at her and saw how she watched, entranced by the sight of his hand caressing her intimately. He waited until she looked into his eyes and held her gaze. With his free hand he supported her at the small of her back and he rested his head against her, his beard ticking her belly.

                With each breath, Charlie let out a low moan. She moved over his hand and closed her eyes, allowing herself to just feel. When she thought her legs might buckle under her, she stepped back and grabbed his hands and pulled at him. Taking the hint, Monroe slowly stood, his arms coming around her and mouth lowering to hers. Her hands went to his belt and she began to undo it frantically, fingers fumbling in her haste. When she finally worked it free she moved on to undo his pants.            

                She shoved them down along with his boxers and they fell to the floor. He stepped out of them, groaning as her hand came up to find his throbbing length. She wrapped her hand around it and began to stroke him, running her palm over the tip each time she reached it. He thrust into her hand several times. Deciding enough was enough; he pulled her hand off of him before he embarrassed them both and began to pull her towards the door that led further into his quarters. “Bedroom,” he moaned against her lips.

                They slowly made their way across the room and into the next, a small room that he’d converted into a study. They made it only to the far side of the room when he backed her into a small table by the door. Rather than taking her further into the bedroom, he simply lifted her by the waist and set her on top of it.

                Charlie wrapped her legs around him, gasping in anticipation as he pressed up against her. Foreheads resting together, their eyes locked again as she reached down to guide him home. With one thrust he filled her. The instant he felt her tight walls gripping him, the thick haze of passion cleared just enough for him to realize the meaning behind what was happening.

                Monroe kissed her tenderly and stood there, completely still inside her. Time lost meaning as they stayed that way, locked together. Finally when she could take it no longer, Charlie began to strain against him; he slowly pulled back out and then slammed into her. She flung her arms around his neck and dug her heels into his ass, encouraging him and meeting him each time he surged forward to fill her.

                He wrapped an arm around her, his hand resting at her waist and braced himself on the wall with the other so that he didn’t crush her against it. They stared into each other’s eyes in the dim light of the lamp he’d left burning in as they moved together, breaths hitching and hearts pounding.

                As she got closer Charlie’s gasps and moans grew louder and she brought her hands down to his ass, joining her heels in  trying to hold him deep inside her. He began to grind against her, remaining deeply within, his pelvis rubbing exquisitely against her clit as he moved in a slow circular motion.

                He felt everything tighten around him, telling him she was almost there. He was getting closer himself and didn’t know how much more he could take as he got closer to the inevitable. “I want to come inside you,” he practically begged as she started to come apart. He knew it was a stupid idea, but if he was going to hell, he might as well go all the way.

                She dug her nails into his flesh, “Yes. Do it,” she moaned. Now totally lost to anything other than her, Monroe’s lips sought hers again and he pulled back, thrusting rapidly and taking them both the rest of the way. Charlie shuddered and quivered in his arms, letting his name escape her lips.

                Knowing she was finding her release, he let himself go. He slammed into her a few more times and then and he exploded, shooting himself inside as she continued to clamp down on him, riding out there rest of her orgasm. As he came, he tightened his arm around her and dug his fingers in, letting out a growl of satisfaction.

                He slumped against her, completely spent. For several minutes they stayed this way, his hand still braced next to her head on the wall, still buried inside her. Charlie only could just sit there, leaning back limp and sated. Panting, he tried to catch his breath while he came down from the high of it enough to move. “Sorry. Bedroom was too far,” he said as he pulled out of her and picked her up. He carried her the rest of the way and deposited her gently on the bed.

                He stood there for a moment and watched her as she smiled up at him, her eyes half closed and hazy. When she held her arms open to him, he practically dove into the bed to join her. He leaned over and kissed her again. Charlie brought her hand up to caress his cheek as their lips moved together. The kiss was slow and tender. When it ended, Monroe rolled onto his back, taking her with him.

                She settled herself in his arms, turning to rest her head on his chest. She could hear the steady beating of her heart, the pace of it still elevated from their lovemaking. Monroe tipped her chin up with gentle fingers and searched her face, trying to read what she was thinking. “About time you _finally_ made a move,” she mocked as a smile spread across her face.

                He had to laugh at that. This woman would never cut him any slack, that was for sure. “I was working my way up to it,” he insisted lightly.

                “Sure you were. If that’s true than it’s official;” Charlie rolled her eyes at him, “glaciers move faster than you do.”

                He bent his head forward and silenced her with his lips and tongue. “Learn to be more patient,” he whispered against her temple as he placed one last kiss there before settling back down against the pillow. 

                She couldn’t help but tease him. “What happened to the cool and confident womanizer? The stories I’ve heard, and from what I saw in Texas: the infamous romantic exploits of Sebastian Monroe.”

                “You have a very strange definition of pillow talk,” he muttered with a shake of his head.

                Charlie moved to look at him. “In all seriousness, why did it take so long to get us here? I’ve seen you pick up a woman less than an hour after meeting her, but I’ve been waiting for you to figure it out for almost six months now.”

                “Well, it’s different, I guess.” He sighed as he tried to come up with the words to explain it. “You have an itch, so you scratch it. As long as she’s pretty and clean and willing, it’s all in good fun.”

                “Really?” she drew the word out as if she was challenging him somehow.

                He stroked her arm lightly with his thumb as he continued, not even aware really that he was doing it. “But this—when it means something…”

                Charlie felt her heart skip a beat. She hadn’t expected him to answer like that. “What _does_ it mean?” She could feel him tensing up a little at the question. Worried that she may have pushed him a bit far, she rolled off of him, propping herself up on one elbow to study him. He was staring up at the ceiling, his brow furrowed as he considered her question. “I’m sorry; you don’t have to answer that.”

                “No it’s…” hesitating again, he rolled over and faced her, his position mimicking mirroring hers. “It’s no secret that I wanted you. Hell, according to Harris, there isn’t a person on the compound that hasn’t figured it out yet. But I care about you—in a lot of different ways. I’ve been driving myself crazy trying to not think about doing this.”         

                “Yeah, how’d that work out for you?”

                “Mixed results.” He laughed at the absurdity of her interruption. “Do you want to hear this or not?” He waited for her to don a more serious demeanor and nod for him to continue.

                “You’re my friend Charlie and what’s weird is that you’re probably one of the best friends I’ve ever had.” He sounded almost incredulous as he said it, as if he was just coming to that realization himself. “I’m a hopelessly flawed man, but somehow you still _accepted_ me when no one else did and gave me the benefit of the doubt—even Miles wouldn’t do that. I don’t want _this_ to ruin that. It’s very important to me and that’s one of the main reasons why I’ve tried to pretend I didn’t want this so badly.”

                He leaned forward and kissed her again, his intent quite clear. Not to be one to let a man lead, Charlie climbed atop him, determined to take control. They went slower this time, working each other up and finishing one right after the other. By the time she slipped off of him, they were both out of breath and boneless.

                “If I’d have known that this was all it took to get you to stop working, I’d have shown up in the middle of the night months ago,” she said as she nipped playfully at his ear.

                Monroe rolled over on his side, pulling her to him and wrapping an arm around her waist. “Oh, so this was just all for the greater good?” he asked with a tired laugh.

                She sighed in contentment as she snuggled in. “Altruism has its own rewards.”

                “If you benefit from it, it’s not altruistic,” he murmured into the side of her neck, his lips lightly grazing her below her ear. “Now quit squirming and go to sleep.”

 


	8. Good Luck, Bad Luck? Who Knows?

                Monroe woke up later than normal to the sound of someone banging on the door. He sat up and looked down at Charlie’s still sleeping form. It took him several moments (and a few more knocks) to come to life enough to get out of bed. After ducking into the small washroom and relieving himself, he stumbled over to the dresser and picked up his pocket watch. “Shit!” he exclaimed. It was past ten and he’d called for a meeting at nine with the Militia’s higher counsel. It just now registered that the banging on his door was because he’d slept right through the damn thing.

                The last thing he needed was anyone barging in and seeing with whom he’d spent the night. “Hold on a minute!” he called out as he rushed over to the closet and started pulling out a clean uniform.

                Charlie picked that moment to sit up, stretching her sore muscles, a smile on her face as she remembered how they’d gotten into that condition. “What time is it?” she yawned.

                “Late—it’s almost quarter after ten.” His voice was muffled as he yanked a shirt down over his head. He sat down on the edge of the bed and started pulling on his pants. “And you have made me miss a meeting,” he added as he leaned over to give her a light kiss.

                Charlie padded across his bedroom, intent on finding her clothes in the front room. She turned when grabbed her hand to stop her. “What?”

                “Someone’s been banging on that door for the past ten minutes. It’s probably one of Harris’ boys on the other side of that door. You can’t be seen in here.” He finished dressing and then went to go fetch her clothes.

                She didn’t look very happy when he returned. “While I’d appreciate being dressed before anyone barges in, explain to me exactly _why_ you’re that terrified of us getting caught?”

                “It’s not what you think, Charlie.” He sat down to pull on his boots. “It doesn’t matter what your title is, you’re essentially second in command here. President or not, I can’t be caught like this with you.”

                Charlie knew he was right, but something about the Republic first attitude grated on her. “What are they going to do? Fire you?”

                He shot her a heated glance. Finishing up with his boots he stood and went over to her. “I still have to be held accountable. Refusing to answer for my actions got me into a lot of trouble the last time. On top of that, if it gets out that we’re sleeping together and something happens to me, the Counsel may very well back Connor instead of you.” He brushed her cheek with his thumb tenderly. “That could very well get you killed. I can’t risk your safety.”

                Charlie sighed, nodding her head. Not wanting to ruin the morning after, she stood on her toes and kissed him. Before she knew it, he was backing her up towards the bed, a growl in his throat. The pounding on the door broke them apart. “Go to your meeting,” she said, smiling up at him.

                He reluctantly left her, throwing open the door. Sure enough, one of Harris’ men was there. “Go ahead and tell them I’m on my way,” he barked at him, sending the poor kid scurrying off. _Am I really that scary?_ He wondered as he headed down the hall.

                He ran into Harris as he worked his way to the other side of the compound. “Private Jacobs sure seemed skittish a few moments ago,” his secretary commented as they both headed towards the main wing of the capital.

                “You know better than to hire someone that spooks that easy,” Monroe said with a shrug.

                Harris laughed. “You seem… well rested,” the younger man said with a knowing smirk.

                “I have no idea what you mean.”

                “Uh huh. Hey when you see Charlie, tell her I rescheduled our meet and greet with Blanchard’s man. I went looking for her, but her quarters were empty,” he said innocently.

                Monroe stopped short. “What were you doing in her quarters?” He couldn’t quite help the little spark anger that flared up when he thought of Harris standing in her bedroom.

                “Really? _That’s_ what you’re worried about? Not my type, in case you needed reminding.” Harris shook his head at him, clearly amused. “So… you finally got your head out of your ass and went for her.”

                Both men started walking again. “You know, a friend would know when to keep his mouth shut,” Monroe commented lightly. “You know, especially when gossip could cause problems.”

                “A _friend_ would give me a heads up so I knew ahead of time to cover for him. But, that’s neither here nor there,” Harris countered. “I’m glad the two of you finally caved. You really do look happier this morning.” With that he offered a half-assed salute and went down the left corridor, while Monroe’s meeting would take him the opposite direction.

                “I am,” he called after his secretary. Feeling really good for the first time in a long time, he opened the door into the conference room. “Sorry to keep you waiting, boys. Let’s get to work,” he said as he walked into the room, offering them all a salute so they could sit down.

                Over the next week, Monroe found that he was getting less and less work done. At first he figured it was just because of the newness of it all. For one thing, he’d gone so long without a woman; it was like his libido was making up for lost time. For another, well it was Charlie. Once he’d finally given in, it was like he couldn’t get enough of her. He figured after a few days, he’d get it out of his system and things would start getting back to some semblance of normal.

                He couldn’t deny that he’d slept better in the past seven days than, well probably ever. Harris’ couriers seemed a lot less frightened of him, which he hadn’t decided was necessarily a good thing, but it was nice to walk into a room without everyone scampering out of his way.

                 It was not quite noon and he was supposed to be writing a letter to the leader of the largest and loudest faction in Michigan. The man had asked for additional aid in exchange for ceasefire until their grievances could be addressed. Instead of working on that reply he found himself instead nuzzling Charlie’s inner thigh as she sat with her shirt and bra pushed up and her pants discarded under his desk. As he closed his eyes and kissed the sensitive skin there, it briefly occurred to him that he might have a serious problem.

                Those thoughts flew out of his mind as he lowered his mouth to her, inwardly smiling when she began to gasp and writhe under him. When she couldn’t take it any longer, he stood and kicked his chair behind him, sending it flying into the window behind him. Somewhere in the back of his mind he considered himself lucky it didn’t break.

                _Yep, I’m in big trouble,_ he thought, as he unzipped his pants and let them drop, losing himself in the moment. It didn’t take long for her to come apart around him, leaving him free to let himself lose control. “God damn,” he growled as he went over the edge and emptied himself deep inside her.  The intensity of his release left him feeling drained and dizzy.

                Monroe pulled out of her and stumbled back to find his chair, almost falling before he finally got into it. He leaned back, staring at the ceiling while he tried to catch his breath. Charlie fared no better, sprawled out on his desk with a satisfied smile on her face. “Good thing it’s almost time for lunch, I’m starving now,” he chuckled as he looked her over.

                Charlie sat up and looked around the room. At some point he’d sent an inkwell flying and it was on the floor several feet away, having spilt all over the rug. There were papers scattered everywhere, including the long abandoned correspondence.  Cocking her head to one side, she twisted to stare at the door that led to the hallway. “Bass? I think someone’s coming down the hall,” she finally said.

                He looked from her to the door and then back again. “Hide,” he suggested.

                Charlie ran for what was once his sitting room, but was now a small filing room “Shit! My pants,” she said with a loud whisper.

                He looked down and found them, balling them up and tossing them too her as he rolled his chair forward. They were out of time and he had no time to adjust his own clothing. The footsteps had stopped just outside the door. No sooner did Charlie close the other door than a brief knock was followed by the door opening to reveal one of the maids bringing the aforementioned lunch.

                “Sir,” she said happily as she headed towards his old rooms. “Oh, I thought Captain Matheson was working through lunch with you today,” she added with a frown. She’d brought lunch for two and now she’d have to go make another tray for her.

                “Thank you-- Mary is it?” he said a little louder than necessary. “The captain will be back shortly. Please leave it on the table in the other room,” he added, wincing as he heard the door to his old bedroom close. Fortunately, the young woman didn’t seem to notice. Monroe took the opportunity to pull up his pants and zip them, managing to sit back down just before she returned.

                “Yes sir. Will there be anything else sir?” She eyed him, as if she was just noting that there was something off.

                “No. Thank you,” he said dismissing her.  When the maid had gone, Monroe got up and went into the next room. Charlie was dressed and already digging into the food that Mary had left. “Planning on sharing that?”

                “If you ask nicely.”

                He took a seat next to her and helped himself. “We’ve got to start being a little careful.”

                “You started it,” she reminded him. “But, you’re right. Harris said that there are already a few members of the counsel that suspect something was going on long before anything actually happened. The last thing you need is their suspicions being confirmed.”

                “That’s the last thing either of us needs. I told you, it’s not just about the Republic. It’s about keeping a target off your back.” They ate in comfortable silence for a while. “You know, maybe you’re right about giving the counsel some responsibilities. At least it would keep them too busy to gossip about what I do in my free time—or before lunch.”

                This had her brightening. He was finally starting to see. “Well it’s about time,” she said quietly as she reached for the other half of his sandwich.

                “Hey, I was going to eat that.” 

                “Next time, eat faster,” she shrugged as she took a bite.

                He opened his mouth to offer further protest when someone else knocked on the door. With a sigh he got up and sat back down at his desk. “Come!”

                The door opened to reveal a messenger, likely one of Harris’. This one barely looked old enough to even be in the militia. He just stood in the doorway looking like he was on the way to his execution.

                “Well?” Monroe said, waiting for the kid to do something. “I’m kind of busy, so out with it,” he added when the messenger continued to stand there.

                “A message just arrived from Major Bradley with the 4th Indy. Connor Bennett has escaped custody in Jasper,” he said, quite obviously afraid of how he would react.

                Monroe couldn’t quite blame him for that. He’d developed quite the reputation for shooting the messenger (figuratively and literally) in Philly. No amount of recent good moods could have completely removed that from the collective conscious of the Militia. If he had to guess, he’d say that this poor kid had drawn the short straw when it came to delivering this message. “How long ago?”

                The corporal swallowed nervously. “Three days.”

                Monroe rubbed his eyes again and leaned his head back on the cushion behind him. _What to do?_ “Dammit,” he said under his breath.

                “Your orders, sir?” the kid ventured warily.

                He stared blankly ahead for several minutes, fighting the urge to go ballistic. It would only serve to scare the poor kid in front of him. “Find him—I don’t care what it takes. And when he’s in custody I want him brought to Nashville to face charges,” he finally ordered. He offered the corporal a salute, dismissing him.

                As soon as the door closed behind the messenger, Charlie came out from the next room. “So he’s going to make a move now after all these months?” She sank down on in the chair across from his desk.

                The mood from before had been effectively ruined. He yanked open his desk drawer and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. With shaking hands he opened the bottle and took a drink directly from it. His head was already beginning to pound as he considered what his son’s escape could mean.

                For the thousandth time since he’d begun the stupid experiment he called a republic, he found himself regretting ever going down the Mexico. Miles had been right; he should have left well enough alone. Hell, Rachel had been right; it didn’t matter where he ended up—Connor was his blood. He had a sneaking suspicion that the militia didn’t need to go out looking for his progeny. More than likely the little psycho was headed right for them.

                “Bass? Are you okay?” she asked finally.

                “I need to go over security protocols,” he said quietly.  His features looked more drawn than ever. “You should go work on our response to the rebels up north. This will keep me busy the rest of the day.”

                 Charlie looked at him sadly. All it took was something else to happen and the walls had immediately come back up. “You know I’m here when you need me,” she said reluctantly and she left him alone.

                The implications of what would happen if Connor had somehow found out about Charlie’s position suddenly hit him. If his son had found out that Charlie was to succeed him in the event of his untimely end, that meant that she was just as big of a target he. If he somehow had found out that they were sleeping together, it would only be worse. Because there had once been something going on between Charlie and his son, it was possible that Connor would take it personally.

                Monroe started to pace the room, images of her being harmed whirling in his mind. He bolted out the door. Finding a guard at the entrance to the residential wing on the bottom floor, he ordered that Harris be sent for immediately. A half hour later the captain appeared in Monroe’s office, having been dragged away from a meeting Monroe had pawned off on him.

                “I heard,” he said grimly as he shut the door behind him. “How do you want to handle it?”

                “I want security for Charlie’s floor doubled until Connor has been found. She goes nowhere without a detail and I want two guards—people you trust personally stationed outside her quarters at all times, effective yesterday.”

                The young man resisted the stupid grin that threatened to escape his features. He knew their commander-in-chief had been trying to deny his interest there for months, but the urgency of the command spoke volumes. Whatever was between them, it was definitely more than sex. “You realize this is going to piss her off, right?”

                “That’s too bad,” he snapped, not in the mood for secretary’s amusement. “She doesn’t have any say in this.”

                “And your own security? More than likely you’d be his intended target if he tries anything, not her. Or will you be sharing a detail?”

                Monroe hesitated. He realized that the need for discretion was stronger now than ever. If Connor really was making a move then it was vital that no one knew about them. On top of that he still hated the idea of having a detail constantly buzzing around him. He knew what they needed to do, as much as he didn’t like it. “No, we will not. Assign two men per stairwell between my floor and Charlie’s. That’s close enough for them to do their job.”            

                “I’ll send your orders to Major Levins immediately,” Harris said with a nod as he headed out the door to seek out the man charged with overseeing security for the compound.

                Over the next several days, they waited for word. It was all they could really do. Charlie had understood his need to keep them apart at night. If Connor was coming, they needed to be careful and guards weren’t above gossip. But then he’d backed off completely. To her it was like he was going through the motions and had simply decided to pretend that they hadn’t just spent a week practically living in each other’s pockets.

                She’d finally gotten fed up and had said something to him about it. All he’d said was that they’d made a mistake. She’d walked away hurt and angry. It had also been the last time he’d worked outside his private quarters.

                The wound Monroe had been forced to inflict upon her had made him sick to his stomach. The fact was, he couldn’t afford to be distracted if he was going to keep her alive. The thought of her being hurt or killed because of their relationship terrified him as much, if not more than the thought of Connor getting his hands on the Republic. He couldn’t take that risk, no matter how much it hurt to ruin things between them. He’d rather have her hating him and alive than lying next to him and dead.

                A few weeks after news of Connor’s escape reached them, Adams sent a report stating that all evidence pointed to Connor having headed northeast. From what they could tell he was fleeing the Republic, most likely to Canada. While the majority of the staff breathed a sigh of relief, Monroe wasn’t so sure. “Keep up current levels of security until we have proof,” he ordered.

                Later that same night, he found himself once again in his cold lonely bed. It had only been a week; seven unbelievably happy days but after years of waiting she’d quickly become a focal point in his life. Now he felt like there was a hole where she was missing. She wasn’t even speaking to him now.

                He’d asked for her to come to him for something work related twice in the past several days and she’d denied him both times. His greatest fear had come to pass and their taking their relationship forward had ruined everything they’d shared beforehand. He missed her body next to him at night, but he also missed her friendship during the waking hours.

                Ever since he’d pushed her away, he found himself staring at the ceiling for hours before falling asleep. This night was no exception. He was finally dozing off when he got the sudden feeling that he wasn’t alone. Instinct had him reaching for the gun in his nightstand, but his hand never reached the handle of the drawer. “Don’t even think about it,” came a gravely whisper. Despite the intruder’s attempt to disguise his voice, Monroe knew it anywhere.

                “Oh, what the hell?” he practically whined as he reached for the matches he kept by the lamp on the table. He shook his head in disgust at Miles as he turned the wick up, his eyes squinting as the light reached them. “We’ve already been here and done this. Don’t you get bored doing the same things over and over again?”

 


	9. Tautology: Repetition is repetitive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I’d hoped to have this up a week ago, but the dialog just wasn’t flowing well and I swear every time I sat down to work on it another distraction popped up (and the hubby seems to have an uncanny ability to transform into a chatterbox only when I write).   
> I’m still not sure I’m 100% happy with it, but if I don’t post it now, it will never get up, so here we go. This was much longer than I’d intended (my initial goal was to keep all chapters between 1500 and 2000 words, but that doesn’t seem to be working out).   
> Thanks again to everyone that has left feedback for this story so far!

                 _We’ve already been here and done this. Don’t you get bored doing the same things over and over again?_

Monroe just sat there, tangled in his sheets and waited for Miles to say or do something—anything. It felt like they were frozen in time—he just sitting there and staring, heartbroken that it had come to this once more; Miles just standing there his eyes cold and the tightly coiled rage emanating off of him.

                Miles took a step forward further into the room. “You know what they say, Bass. Learn from history or you’re doomed to repeat it.”

                “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he ask as he got out of bed, his wary gaze never leaving the man that he’d once thought he could count on no matter what.

                “That’s close enough,” Miles said, ignoring the question for the time being.

                “Relax. I’m just getting dressed. I’m not going to stand here buck ass naked while you decide if you’re going to shoot me or not.” With one last sidelong glance, he reached for the dresser drawer. Miles moved quickly and got there first, effectively stopping him.

                “I will shoot you,” he said through clenched teeth. He hadn’t expected him to be so Bass-like. This wasn’t like before at all. The last time he’d been visibly nuts. It was like he’d either learned how to control himself a little better, or he’d just gotten better at hiding it.         

                With a sad shake of his head, he yanked the dresser open and pulled out his old pair of jeans. They’d have to do for now. They were the only thing he kept in that particular drawer, and being on the bottom it didn’t have a weapon. The last thing he wanted was to go for some boxers and Miles mistake it as an attempt to pull a fast one. He’d only shoot first and ask questions later.

                He started to yank them on, never taking his eyes off of his former friend. “So are you at least going to tell me why this time?” he asked as he zipped them up.

                “You have the balls to kidnap my niece, but not the brains to figure out that’s why I’m pissed?” He jabbed the barrel of the gun into his back and forced him through the study and into the front sitting room. “Light the lamp,” he instructed as soon as they’d cleared the doorway.

                Monroe went to the end table and did as he was told. As he did, his mind began to whirl. Miles had obviously found out about Charlie, but how? It was sickening that the man automatically assumed that the only reason she could possibly be here was by force. It spoke volumes about Miles’ opinion of him. What it didn’t tell him was _how_ he’d found out.

                If he’d found out from Blanchard or anyone else in Austin then he’d have known she’d been in Texas. There’s no way he could make that accusation if that were the case. The only other way he could have found out was from Connor. That meant that either his son had either gone to Texas or Miles had been involved in his escape. He didn’t believe for a second that his presence in Nashville, after all those months of begging for him to come was a coincidence now. It was just too perfectly timed.

                “You’ve got it all wrong about Charlie, Miles. She’s here of her own free will. I-“

                “Shut up and take a seat,” Miles ordered. He waited for Monroe to sink down onto the sofa and then sat down on an armchair on the other side of the coffee table.

                “Listen, I don’t know where you’re getting your information, but you’re wrong. I can take you to her, she’ll tell you herself.”

                Miles laughed. “He thought you’d say something like that.” He paused to lean forward in his chair. ”You can give her any official title you want. You’ve done that to prisoners before just to justify their presence. Why would she be any different?”

                “Because _I’m_ different,” Monroe said with no little indigence. He jumped to his feet. “You have some nerve coming here and presuming to know anything about me or her, or about the Republic.”

                Miles gestured with the gun for him to sit back down. He waited for compliance before he responded. “Really? I think your own son would have a good idea what’s going on. And, from what I’ve heard this new Republic is shaping up to be no better than the last.”

                “We’ve had some problems, sure. There’s been a food shortage and people get hungry and they get angry. For the most part, the problems have been isolated to the lakes, but-“

                “And the best way to deal with that is shoot up a village?” Miles arched a brow, daring him to deny it.

                Monroe flinched. “I didn’t order it. I ordered Gray to stand down, but he went on the attack anyway. He’s been tried and punished for it, along with everyone else involved. I’ve been negotiating with the rebels, Charlie’s been helping me. If you’d just get your head out of your ass and listen…”

                Miles just sneered at him. “You know what? I don’t care, Bass. Shoot up towns, kill your people, starve them, or whatever it is you’re doing. All I want is Charlie back. If she’s unharmed, I’ll let you live long enough to try and protect your demented little throne from your kid.”

                _So he is here…_ He let the mask fall into place. Even if he had nothing left, he still had pride. He couldn’t let Miles know how much that stung. He got up and headed over to the liquor cabinet. “I need a drink,” he grumbled as he opened it up and started to rifle through it. “Well that answers one question. I should have known it was you. Kid’s not smart enough to plan an escape and over his tracks.”

                “Well, it’s a hell of a lot easier finding a prisoner when you have someone that knows where to look,” he acknowledged. “As soon as I hear the signal that they’ve got her-“

                “You sent Connor to find her?” he asked, his heart leaping into his chest. “Miles, do whatever you want to me, but you can’t let him anywhere near her.” His hand closed on what he was looking for. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to steady himself.

                “Do you really think I’m that stupid, Bass?”

                Monroe knew it was now or never, so he took his chance. He abruptly turned, raising his arm as he did so. The gun he held was already loaded and ready. “We can sit here and go back and forth about this until one of us pulls the trigger, or we can get to her before Connor does. If he finds her, he’ll kill her.”

                “And why would he do that, Bass? Why kill her when he’s the one that told me she was here in the first place?”

                Monroe locked eyes with him and silently pleaded that Miles would believe him. “Because she’s next in line for the presidency if something happens to me. If he wants a legitimate claim, he’s got to take us both out. It’s the only way he’ll get his hands on it without a civil war.”

                Miles searched his face for some indication that he was telling the truth. As much as he didn’t trust Monroe—not after he came back east to reform the Republic, still he couldn’t risk Charlie’s life. He sat there in indecision for several minutes.

                “Miles, I could have just pulled the trigger. I’m asking you to trust me, for her sake. Connor fed you a bunch of bullshit. I’d _never_ hurt her. Deep down, you’ve got to know that.” He added. “I know you think I’m the one that’s lost it, and maybe over the past few weeks I’ve done a lot of backsliding, but Connor makes me look like Mother Theresa.”

                With a sigh, he stood up, finally taking his gun off of his prisoner. “God, I hate you.”

                “Well, at least some things ever change.” Knowing they were very likely running out of time, he didn’t bother to grab anything else. His only concern was getting downstairs as soon as possible. They raced down the hall and into the stairwell. “Where’s the guards?” he asked as they headed down together.

                “There weren’t any when I came up.”

                Monroe didn’t bother to mention that when he’d come up, he’d essentially just passed Charlie’s room. He’d figure it out soon enough, and later he’d laugh at the irony of it. In the hallway by the door to her office, the two guards that Harris had personally vetted and assigned to her detail were dead on the floor. One had been stabbed and the other looked like his neck wasn’t positioned naturally.

                After spending on a few brief seconds describing the layout of her quarters, he slowly opened the door. It only opened halfway, having been stopped by some unseen obstruction. Going first, Monroe slid through the opening and looked down to see what was blocking the door. His mouth formed a grim line when he saw Rachel sprawled on the floor behind it.

                As Miles entered behind him, Monroe squatted down and searched for her pulse. Finding one, he stood and nodded briefly, indicating to Miles that for the time being at least she was still alive. The door leading from her office her personal rooms was ajar and they could hear a struggle inside.

                Forcing his worry for her and his rage for the entire circumstance deep inside, he led the way. “You bitch!” could be heard as they approached cautiously. Monroe peered around the corner into her bedroom to see Connor and Charlie locked in a struggle. He punched her hard in the stomach, causing her to double over. Another slap sent the small knife she held scattering to the floor, it’s blade red. The way he moved his arm when he reached out to grab her neck suggested she’d gotten in a decent hit.

                Connor slammed her into the wall, his hand squeezing her throat and pinning her there, his other hand blocking her paltry attempts to free herself. When she continued to struggle she began to claw at his hand, desperate for air.

                “Let her go,” Monroe growled as he put his gun to the back of his son’s head. It was all he could do to focus on saving her and not on the fact that if he pulled the trigger he’d be guilty of murdering the last blood he had on this world.

                “Hi, _Dad,_ ” he said with a laugh. The name sounded twisted coming from him now. “We both know you’re not going to shoot me.”

                “Maybe he won’t, but I will,” Miles added as he entered right behind him. “Let her go and I _might_ not kill you for using me to get to Charlie.”

                Connor weighed his options. He just needed to buy a few minutes. “So you really thought you could have her take my place? You’ve really got it bad for her, don’t you-- picking a piece of ass over your own son. It’s sick.”

                Monroe swallowed nervously. He really didn’t want to pull the trigger but he knew he didn’t have a whole lot of options. “It had nothing to do with Charlie, and everything to do with that shit you pulled in St. Louis. All you had to do was keep your mouth shut and learn how to take care of it, but you had to play the badass.”

                “Maybe if you hadn’t been such a bleeding heart with all your ‘doing things the right way’ crap I wouldn’t have had to take matters into my own hands,” he sneered as he increased the pressure on her windpipe.

                “This was never about power Connor. It was about fixing things, you knew that. I told you that back in New Vegas.”

                “You said a lot of things in New Vegas. Too bad you didn’t have the decency to let me kill you then,” he said with a smile. He watched the hurt in Charlie’s eyes, the way she ached for his father made this all too perfect. He’d been told they were sleeping together, but the fact that they cared for one another would only make the victory that much sweeter. “So tell me, how was it? Banging my leftovers? I guess you really have a thing for sloppy seconds, huh? First my mom, now Charlie. Oh that’s right… Rachel was in there somewhere too, wasn’t she?”

                Monroe had heard enough. “Watch your mouth,” he said as he made a decision and hit Connor on the back of the head with the handle of his gun. He may not have it in him to pull the trigger, but he had no qualms against knocking the hell out his kid. A second blow sent Connor to the floor. He stepped over him to get to Charlie. The second she’d been free she’d slid down the wall, coughing and gasping for air.

                He helped her up, his brows furrowed with concern. “You okay?” he asked as he brushed his thumb lightly over her cheekbone. She winced; the skin would be bruised soon enough.            Unable to speak yet, she grabbed his forearm and squeezed it to reassure him. He saw the way her tank top was torn, the shoulder strap having been ripped. The material had fallen away and the top of one breast was almost visible. He gathered the pieces and tied them together to cover her.

                “Bass…” she rasped his name as he cupped her face. She could tell he had something he wanted to say, but he suddenly pulled himself out of the moment.

                Miles had already pulled Connor to his feet and had his gun on him. “As touching as this is, we’ve gotta go. Connor had a handful of guards helping him,” he said. “And we are totally going to have a conversation about all the _touching_ later.”

                Monroe snapped back to attention and helped her across the room. When they came across Rachel, he took over moving Connor along so Miles could pick her up. “My office is next door. I’ve got some spare clothes and weapons—“He didn’t even get the sentence out before they were met with half a dozen guns.

                He stared coldly at the men that had just a few hours before been stationed for his own protection in the stairwells, or so he’d thought. Miles was forced away from Rachel and they were backed into the far wall. “Stand down, or I’ll shoot him, and then you’re totally fucked,” Monroe finally said, having been smart enough to drag Connor there with them. “Hard to pull a coup without a leader, don’t you think?”

                “It’s over, Dad. You won’t shoot me and neither one of you will risk Charlie. Drop your weapons or they’ll open fire.” Connor said as a smile spread across his face. “You should have listened to Miles and gotten out while you could.”

                “You ungrateful little bastard,” Monroe said under his breath as put the safety on his gun and tossed it to the ground. He gave Miles a meaningful look and waited for him to do the same before taking off his sword belt.

                “Maybe, but I’m a smart little bastard, now aren’t I. Smarter than you at least.” With a nod of his head they were shoved out the door and down the hallway. “Somebody, do something with that,” he added, pointing to Rachel.

                Hands behind their heads, they were brought downstairs and out of the north wing of the residential half of the compound. They were met at the bottom of the main staircase by Major Levins and a dozen more men. “Report,” Connor barked at him.

                “Sir, anyone on duty that was unwilling to accept the change in command was eliminated. Twelve down, no casualties of our own,” he said as he saluted the man he’d chosen to back.

                “And the others?”

                “Out of the way for now. There were rumors of an attack on the Texas Embassy on the other side of the city. That should keep them busy for a few more hours, until we have the compound secure. We’re working on the eastern wing, but we should have the rest well in hand.”

                Monroe turned around and lunged at the man. “You son of a bitch!” he shouted as he went for his throat. He was rewarded for the attack with the butt of a rifle to the back, which knocked him off balance enough for Levins to get out of reach.

                “Who is that?” Miles whispered to Charlie as they watched Connor’s men try to subdue him.

                She leaned close so they wouldn’t be overheard. “He _was_ our head of security. I wonder how Connor got to him.”

                “I swear to God you’d better shoot me now because when I get out of this, I’ll make sure you hang,” Monroe spat as he strained against the two men holding his arms. He stopped struggling and glared at them, clearly done after having made his point.

                “Empty threats will get you nowhere,” Connor said with a bored roll of his eyes as he turned back to Levins. “Any problems?”

                “Some of the household staff have proven less than cooperative. They’ve been confined to quarters, of course. Most of them will accept the changes eventually, and the ones that don’t can always be dealt with.”

                With a nod, Connor kept walking towards the corridor that led to the other side of the compound, where most of the Republic’s offices were located. Levins kept pace with him while the guards brought Charlie, Miles and Monroe in the rear. “And the secretary?”

                “He wasn’t in his quarters. If rumors are correct, he’s probably entertaining one of his, you know…” he let the insinuation hang out there, amused at his own cunning.

                “Since my father has managed to stay alive this long, I suppose we’ll just use him as a hostage until we’re secure,” he said.

                Before they could move any further the doors to the corridor burst open. Harris stood there with a handful of men, a sword and gun in hand. Monroe almost did a double take when he saw the young man standing there in his pajamas, having clearly been dragged from his bed. Without a word, Harris aimed and fired, taking Levins down.

                As soon as the chaos began, Monroe head butted the man that held him. He started to go down, giving him an opportunity to dive for his rifle. They struggled over it for a moment, but despite the guard’s youth, Monroe still outweighed him by a good thirty pounds and had experience on his side. With the barrel pressed to his opponent’s chin, he pressed on the man’s finger, pulling the trigger. With a blood spattered face, he pulled the weapon free and immediately turned to fire on another guard.

                He then tossed the rifle to Charlie and grabbed the second guard’s sidearm and sword. More comfortable with this second set of weapons, he went to work. Miles had already gotten his hand on a blade and soon all hell broke loose.

                “Good to see you finally dragged yourself out of bed and decided to show up,” he said to Harris as he turned to block a blow from another guard.

                “Next time, give me a heads up that someone’s going to storm the castle and I’ll set my alarm,” Harris took down one and started slashing at the next. Out of nowhere several more guards joined the fray in Connor’s defense.

                “Dammit,” Monroe grumbled as he dodged a swing and countered with one of his own. “This is getting annoying,” he said as he took aim with the pistol, hitting his opponent in the head before moving on to the next.

                “Oh good, reinforcements” Harris said with a smile as several more guards and three women spilled into the hallway. His housekeeper Sally led two of her girls into the fray with all the bravery of any soldier he’d ever commanded. All three were armed with rifles; Sally and the older of the two maids were dressed in their nightgowns. The third, however was dressed like she’d just walked the corner for a few hours.

                “Is that Mary?” Monroe asked, noticing the young woman. She quite obviously was out doing something that wasn’t befitting of someone in his employ when the attack began.

                She blushed and then fired her weapon, her eyes wide as the guard that had rushed her fell to the ground. “I’m sorry General. I can explain,” she stammered. She knew she’d be reprimanded for breaking the code of conduct she’d agreed to when she’d signed on to work in the compound.

                “Don’t be too hard on her,” Harris said as he continued to fight. “If she hadn’t been out and about, we wouldn’t have gotten the warning. She saw someone scaling the back balcony when she was sneaking back in and came and got me.”

                Monroe glared at Miles. At least he knew how he’d gotten in. That certain someone shrugged as he prepared to swing his sword, only to find his opponent fall when Charlie’s gun went off. They were fighting off the last few when Harris turned to face Connor.

                Both young men went round a few times before Connor stuck, coming at him with a high swing. Harris blocked and countered. His son was completely unaware that none of his men still stood as he continued to go on the offensive.

                “He’s not half bad,” Miles commented as he now leaned up against the wall next to where Sally and her girls stood.

                Monroe let out a half-hearted chuckle. “He ought to be good, I trained him.”

                Moments later, Connor’s sword was sent to the ground. Before he could pull his gun out, He found himself surrounded by Mathesons and his own father. “Now, it’s over.” Monroe said. “Lock him up, and for fuck’s sake, this time _keep_ him locked up,” he ordered the four men that had come with Harris. He waited for them to drag is son off before turning to Harris.

                “Flannel jammies Shawn? Where did you even get those.” he said as if it was the strangest thing in the world.

                “What? At least I own pajamas… Sir.”  

                “Touché. What’s our status?”

                “They tried to take the other side of the compound but we fought them off. I’ve sent two more squads in through the back to clear out this side. Seven casualties on the other side, not telling on this one.” Harris explained.

                “And why are we using maids for backup?”

                “Those sons of bitches tried to hurt my girls, that’s why,” Sally interjected.

                Miles squinted at her. “Is that Sally Reynolds?” She was quite a bit older, but he remembered her working in Independence Hall briefly.

                “It’s Sally Barker now, if you don’t mind. And shame on you, Miles Matheson for sneaking that spoiled brat in here,” she snapped at him.

                Charlie made a mental note to ask how Miles knew the housekeeper. Instead she went up to Monroe. “You’re bleeding,” she said as she touched his bicep lightly. A long slash went down it where he hadn’t moved quick enough to avoid a knife.

                “It’s just a scratch,” he insisted. He pulled her hair aside and inspected the finger shaped bruises on her neck. “I’m so sorry. I should have just gotten you out of the city when word came that he’d escaped.” Now was neither the time nor the place, so he hoped that she’d understand what the past two hours had done to him.

                “I wouldn’t have gone,” she said quietly. _Not without you,_ she added in her head.

                He shook his head at her. _Always has to be so damned stubborn_. “I should have at least tried.” When Miles cleared his throat uncomfortably he took a step back. “Harris, Rachel Matheson is in Charlie’s office and is in need of medical attention. As soon as we’re sure the building is clear, send someone for a doctor.”

                “And the other intruder, sir?” Harris asked, sending a cold glare towards Miles.

                Monroe hadn’t yet thought about what to do with him yet. Technically Miles was still a ranking general in the Militia so what he’d done was essentially treason. Both men knew that Monroe would never have him charged with it, but the threat may be useful in the days to come.

                “Harris, meet Miles Matheson. He’s a drunk, a dick and has a habit of trying to kill me in my sleep. Miles, meet Captain Shawn Harris. Shawn is disgustingly efficient, loyal to a fault and as you’ve seen, a quick study at sword play. He also cheats at cards.” He waited for the two men to acknowledge one another and the introduction, ignoring Harris’ griping about the cards comment. “Now that you’ve both been properly introduced, escort Miles to one of the guest suites as soon as you hear back from your men. Make sure it’s a decent one, he’s going to be seeing a lot of it over the next few days.”

                With that, he turned and walked up the stairs. “Where are you going?” Charlie said, putting herself in his path.

                “To get a shirt and a drink,” he said as he side stepped her and continued on his way.

                She couldn’t believe him. “The building isn’t secure yet!” she called after him.

                “Don’t care,” he snapped, disappearing from sight—and he truly didn’t.

                She glared at two of the guards. “Well don’t just stand there, go after him.”

                “Yes ma’am,” they said in unison before running after him to catch up.


	10. Conversations and Confrontations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Initially this story went right towards it’s rather long conclusion, but enough people had commented that they were interested in how everyone would interact after the smoke cleared that I decided to expand a little. Most of these conversations were only referenced to initially and were not described in detail (again, this was supposed to be a simple store at first… damn my love of complexity…) The only scene that I’d originally written was the first one. A warning in advance- this is dialog heavy. There is one important confrontation that is obviously missing. It will come later, I assure you.   
> I’m not sure when I’ll get the next chapter out. Right now there is a lot of chaos going on where I live (St. Louis) and we’re just close enough to it that we may have to book it for a few days until the dust settles (if it makes its way further west down the highway, that is) just to be on the safe side. Well, that and my kid’s school is closed until further notice. Hard enough to write with one kid home, two kids home makes it almost impossible. So, if nothing comes soon, please forgive me all. As always your comments and support are awesome!

                _One hour after the attack…_

                Harris made everyone stay put until he heard back from the other squads. When he was sure that Monroe was safely in his quarters and the men that had made the mistake of following Connor were either apprehended or dead, he gave the all clear.

                Those that had been locked in their quarters were already freed, most of them never having woken up to discover that they’d been confined in the first place. It seemed that the only error Connor had made in his plan was involve Miles Matheson. He should have known that Miles wouldn’t just shoot him. There was too much history there and he’d already failed to do it once.

                He now escorted the former general to the western wing of the residential half of the compound. He’d wisely chosen a suite of rooms as far from Monroe’s quarters as he could get while still following orders. If it was up to him, Matheson would have gone with Connor to holding and interrogations on the other side of the city.

                Miles walked in front of him, his hands on his head. He had no plans to try to escape or attack Monroe further, but he couldn’t blame the kid for not trusting him. It was obvious that his reputation had preceded him. “So you’re Bass’ little enforcer, huh?” he asked as he continued to saunter down the hallway with all the bravado he could muster.

                “Actually, I’m his personal secretary,” Harris snapped, prodding him with the gun a little rougher than necessary when Matheson snickered at his job title.

                “Same thing,” Miles said, smiling at the captain’s irritation. “So how did you land the gig? Were you just a bigger snitch than the other applicants, or did you have to take them out first?”

                “Not that it’s any of your business, but I just happened to deliver a message and he started having me run errands. I just never went back to my unit,” Harris explained. “I’d never even met him before then.”

                “Trust me, he probably had you vetted months before hand,” he mused. “Bass isn’t the trusting type.”

                “That’d be kind of hard considering I’d only been in the city for a few days. You obviously don’t know him that well, Butcher.” He made a point to use the old moniker, almost sneering at it. Yes, he was very familiar with his captive’s reputation. He hadn’t enlisted until after Monroe had revamped the Militia, but he’d grown up in the old republic. He’d heard of the things Miles Matheson had done.

                Miles stopped walking and took the risk of being shot to turn and face him. “I’ve known Bass since we were five years old. I think I know him a bit more than you do; and you wouldn’t be defending him now if you’d lived in the Republic before.”

                Harris got him moving again before he spoke. “I’m from Ohio. I know very well what the Republic was like, and I can see the difference now. That’s why I enlisted.”

                Miles was surprised at this. Granted, Ohio didn’t have it bad as a lot of places had. Wisconsin and Michigan had seen the worst that the Militia had to offer only because they were so far removed from Philly and the men that had led the forces there had been more corrupt than the rest. Still, live wasn’t exactly a picnic in Ohio either. In fact, the only places that seemed to avoid most of Monroe’s wrath up until the last year or so were Jasper and Philly itself.

                Until the night that Monroe had betrayed their hometown, he and Bass had made sure the Militia knew that Jasper was off limits and exempt from taxes. Their attachment to the town had given them an advantage over other towns, and in fact they’d even made sure it was protected. And Philly, well that was always Bass’ baby. Miles may have started the whole thing, but when it came to the historic town, once Bass had adopted it as his new home, he’d put all his energy into restoring it. Independence Hall had been chosen because of his love of the history within its walls.

                “You must have just shot up through the ranks,” he commented. Bass was never one to promote lightly. Even Jeremy had only been a captain, and he’d been second in command over the entire Republic after he’d abandoned Philly.

                “Yeah, well I’m a hard worker,” Harris replied, his tone more clipped than ever.

                They’d reached the end of the hallway and had stopped in front of a door on the left. “I get the feeling you don’t like me much, Captain.”

                Harris opened the door and shoved Miles inside the room. “I thought you were supposed to be his best friend—brothers or something. I’ve heard what happened the night you tried to kill him and now you’ve done it again. That’s not how I treat my friends.”

                “Bass isn’t capable of having friends; not anymore,” Miles had to laugh at that. As far as he was concerned, this _kid_ before him was just naïve and hopped up on the power that his position within the Republic gave him. It would only be a matter of time before he found himself shot for his loyalty. Connor may have lied to them, but he still wasn’t convinced that this version of the republic would prove to be much different from the last.

                “Well, I’m his friend. Charlie is too. He’s worked his ass off trying to make this country something to be proud of. You’d have seen that if you’d just come and let him show you, rather than bringing that backstabbing little shithead here. And now? You may have just ruined everything we’ve all been working so hard for. The second he found out that Connor had escaped, he hasn’t been the same. I have a feeling that you know just as well as I do that after what you’ve done, it’s only going to get worse.”

                The conversation was cut short by the arrival of three guards that would be charged with keeping the Mathesons securely in their quarters. “Your woman will be brought here when the Doc clears her. Any attempts to escape will be viewed as further aggression towards the General and you will be shot.”

                _Eighteen hours after the attack…_

                Charlie had stayed by her mother’s side until she woke up. She knew that as soon as she was deemed well that Rachel Matheson would be joining Miles in what amounted to a very comfortable jail cell. She was sure that the only reason Miles hadn’t been carted off with Connor was because of his connection to her. Not even his past with Monroe would have saved him if he wasn’t her family—not this time.

                As it was, the doctor would be arriving any minute to check her a second time and if the way she was pacing Charlie’s office was of any indication, she was going to be just fine. “How can you just sit there?” Rachel said as she came to a stop in front her daughter. “He’s got Miles locked up. God knows what Monroe’s going to do to him.”

                “Will you calm down? He’s not going to do anything. He knows that Connor tricked you both. Bass won’t let him be harmed,” Charlie said wearily as she pinched the bridge of her nose. Her head was killing her now. The past eighteen hours had been an absolute nightmare.

                _Four hours after the attack…_

_Charlie knocks on the door to his quarters gently. When he doesn’t respond, she hesitates and then opens the door. She finds him standing by the window, looking out as the sun slowly creeps up above the horizon._

_He turns at the sound of the door opening. His first instinct is to get ready to defend himself. It is only the small voice of reason in the corner of his mind that reminds him that if someone was going to attack him, they wouldn’t be knocking first._

_He sees her standing there, her concern evident. He doesn’t move, just waits for her to approach him. “Did you get your arm looked at?”_

_“It’s fine,” he says, his hand coming up to rest over the wound. He doesn’t realize that he’s winced a little at the contact._

_Charlie goes to see for herself. She unbuttons the wool  shirt and pulls it off his shoulder. His arm is bandaged haphazardly. She unwinds it. A line of stitches are only half finished. She looks up at him questioningly. “Well obviously the Doc’s been here. Why did he stop?”_

_“Because I told him to get out. I’m fine,” he says._

_“Sit,” she tells him. The last thing they need is for him to die of infection because he’s stubborn. The doctor had left what he’d been using in his haste to escape. She grabs the decanter and uses what’s left inside to sterilize her hands. She goes to work in finishing up the job._

_Other than the occasional grunt when the needle pierces a bit too deeply, he doesn’t react or recoil as she works. She’s definitely not as skilled as the doctor, but she’d had to patch someone up here and there during the war and she can get the job done. She goes into his washroom and grabs a small towel and uses it to dab at the wound with more whiskey when she’s finished. He hisses as it makes contact._

_Finished she rewraps his arm with the bandage. Their eyes lock as she finishes. “Thank you,” he tells her, almost whispering. “I’ve got a lot to do and more to think about. Go take care of your mom, okay?”_

_His words and tone are not unkind, but she knows when she’s being dismissed. She leaves him to do as he asks. With her family being involved, she knows that she’s the last person he wants to be around right now._

“How can you even _think_ about defending him?” Her mother abruptly stopped pacing and crossed the room, taking her daughter’s face in her hands. “What has he done to you?”

                “Can you hear yourself? _This_ is why I didn’t tell you where I was going. Why can’t you get it through your head?” She jerked back to free herself. “I knew what I was doing when I got on that train. He hasn’t hurt me and he hasn’t threatened me. I’ve been free to go home the entire time, but I chose to say. I’m here because I want to be.”

                “How can you be so blind, Charlie? He’s dangerous; unstable.” Her voice was shaking with emotion. “Did you completely forget what he did to me in Philly?”

                “This is different. _He’s_ different. We’ve been working so hard to straighten the Republic out. All he wants is to do things right this time around; to make up for the past and just maybe be forgiven.”

                Rachel turned away, sickened by what she was hearing. “Some things can’t be forgiven, Charlie.”

                Fed up, Charlie stalked over to Rachel and grabbed her by the shoulders, whipping her around. “If he’s not worthy of forgiveness then neither are you or Miles. He fights so hard not to be that man—and _that’s_ why he deserves a second chance.”

                Rachel shook her head, stubborn as ever. “He’s pulled you into his madness. He’s had problems for a long time, Charlie. It wasn’t just the blackout.”

                “What are you talking about?”

                Rachel almost stopped herself, but she was so desperate to get Charlie to understand that it wasn’t only her hatred for the man that had her concerned. She told her daughter about the deaths of his family and where it had taken him. “He tried to kill himself. The only reason he didn’t get discharged from the Marines for it was because your dad and I called in a favor with a friend in the DOD to keep it off his record. We tried to get him help afterwards, but he refused. Some people just don’t want to help, and you can’t force them.”

                Charlie’s heart ached for him. She’d seen the graves in Jasper when they’d followed him there with Georgia. She hadn’t asked Miles how they died, nor did he explain how much it had damaged him. She went over to her desk and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “He’s asking now,” she said as she handed her mother the letter he’d sent her the previous fall.

                Rachel hesitated and then began to read it. She noticed the difference in the handwriting right away, much faster than Charlie had. In her years of captivity, she’d read more than one missive from him. He’d always been so precise and disciplined in everything he wrote—it was as if every word was chosen perfectly to get the effect he wanted. This was just a chaotic mess in comparison.

                Charlie saw the fight go out of her, so she tried once more. “He might have said he was looking for an advisor, but you can’t tell me you don’t see this for what it was—he was looking for a friend; someone to keep him grounded. He’s begging for help here, even if he doesn’t say the real reason why.”

                Rachel truly looked at her daughter for the first time since she’d woken up. She saw what was really there and it scared her. She’d seen that look on her face before. She’d worn it when she’d talked about Jason Neville once. “You care about him?”

                She took the letter back and carefully folded it up. She didn’t know why she’d kept it, but for some reason she had and it was important to her. “I do,” she confessed as she put the letter away. “We maybe had something too, but he backed off when Connor escaped. And now this… This may have ruined any chance of getting it back.”

                They were cut off by the doctor’s return. The examination he gave Rachel was, of course just a formality. Anyone could see that she was going to be fine. Her concussion was mild and she was well on the mend.

                Within the hour she was taken to Miles. With Levins’ betrayal, Monroe had decided to leave Harris in charge of security for the time being. At his recommendation, their leader had allowed Harris to appoint one of his aides as his new secretary. The private was a friend of Harris’ and he trusted him implicitly. This left him free to handle his new duties.

                Harris stood in the doorway now and watched as Rachel was led away. “I’m sorry, Charlie. I’m sure it’s just for a few days.” He looked at her sadly. Over the past months they’d become good friends and he hated the fact that both she and Monroe were both hurting. He also hated that he was now in a position where loyalty to her would be a betrayal to Monroe and vice versa. Still, Charlie would understand and get over it. Monroe, on the other hand needed all the loyalty he could get right now.

                “How is he?” she asked.

                “Your uncle is fine. He—”

                “Not Miles. I sure he’s getting by. Knowing him, he’s somehow managed to convince his guards to get him a bottle of something and is cooling his heels in wasted bliss. I meant Bass.”

                Harris came in the rest of the way, shutting the door to block their words from reaching curious ears. He flopped down on one of the chairs, propping his feet up on the other. He’d been on the go since he’d been woken up by Mary and was beyond tired. “He’s not good. He was already driving himself nuts with Connor… Now? I know he kind of pushed you away, but maybe you should try to talk to him again. You always could talk him down better than anyone.”

                Charlie rubbed her eyes, willing them to remain open. “Shawn, it’s better if I back off. It’s my family that’s done this. He needs time to process it all.”

                He got up then and went to the door. He still had several things to take care of before he could go off duty for a few hours. “I hope you know what you’re doing. You know he misses you. You didn’t see him a lot after he went back into hiding, but I did. He’s been miserable, even if he’s too much of an ass to admit it.” He left her to mull that over, hoping she’d at least consider it.

                _Thirty-six hours after the attack…_

Miles stared out the window to their third floor room and watched the city go about its business. He’d been on edge for the past day and a half. He’d been questioning everything. The animosity that they’d seen from the guards trumped what it was the last time tenfold. There were a handful of men that truly had believed in the last Republic, but for the most part the Militia’s loyalty had been based in fear. Now, they seemed to genuinely want to support their leader in a way they hadn’t before.

                This made him truly wonder what was going on. Obviously, Connor was nuts. The question was how much did the apple fall from the tree? Monroe’s “issues” had always been rooted in his own fear of being alone. After his family had died, he’d clung to Miles as a way to survive and cope. After Shelly it had been more of the same but his response had been more extreme. Since Miles had wanted to raid their neighbors and form an army, he’d gone all out to give it to him. It had been like he was afraid if he didn’t throw himself into it that Miles would disappear to do it himself and Bass would have been all alone once more.

                When Miles had woken up one day and realized that they’d gone too far, he’d truly believed that his brother had died long ago and had been replaced with a power hungry monster that felt human life held no value. He hadn’t thought that there was a piece of the original man still in there somewhere, desperate to be found. The way that he’d forsaken his plans with Connor to follow them with Davis had given him hope for the first time in years that Bass wasn’t beyond salvation after all.

                When he’d retaken what was left of the Militia and formed the new incarnation of the Republic, that hope had faltered. It had been utterly destroyed when Bass had taken the south as well. He’d been so quick to believe Connor that he hadn’t considered the validity of any of the other rumors crossing the Mississippi about order rising from all the chaos the Patriots had left.

                Now, he didn’t know what to believe. Of course, Rachel was still convinced that he’d somehow brainwashed Charlie and any claims that he’d been trying to do things the right way are just a cover. And she’d been vocal about it to the point where he’d considered gagging her at least twice. The last thing he needed right now was a frightened mother’s hysterics.

                The tender looks and brief exchanges he’d seen between Charlie and his former best friend had him wondering about that as well. When Rachel had repeated what Charlie had told him about her feelings for the man, it had only made it more confusing.

                Sure, Charlie was young and when it came to women, well Bass was Bass—but even if he’d been able to convince his niece to sleep with him, she wasn’t what one would call the romantic type. She’d left her share of broken hearts behind her in Willoughby. The girl could be naïve, but she wasn’t that naïve. Or was she? If she cared about him, maybe there’s something to be said for it—not that he didn’t plan on kicking Bass’ ass for it later.

                The door to their comfortable prison opened to reveal Monroe. He was in full uniform and Miles could tell by looking at him that he’s about ready to drop. Later, Rachel would tell him that he looked psychotic, but Miles knew better. It was clear that the man was running on empty. More than likely, he hasn’t slept since the attack and if what they’d overheard is true, he’d barely gotten a moment’s peace since they helped Connor escape.

                He entered the room and the door swung shut behind him. His posture was ridged as if he was trying like hell to keep his composure. His detachment was forced, and to someone like Miles, he couldn’t hide the turmoil that was beneath the façade. He stared them down for several minutes before he began. “You’ve certainly caused a lot of trouble.”

                “Well you know me, it’s my middle name,” Miles offered cautiously. Monroe may have been hurt more than angry, but that was always when he was his most dangerous. Wounded, he was like an animal and had a tendency to lash out unpredictably.

                “I want to know what else you and my son have planned. How many men? Who else is involved?” Monroe was aggressive in his questioning. He only had one shot at this, so he fully planned on finding out what he could.

                “Connor said he had a few friends that had been assigned to your security detail. They were supposed to make sure the balcony and one other door were unguarded for a few hours, that’s it.” Miles decided that he’s going to be honest. Connor’s hidden agenda gave him no reason to keep what little he knew to himself.

                “How did you get him out of Jasper?”

                “It was surprisingly easy. One guard at the back, one at the front. We were getting him out of Emma’s house, not Fort Knox. Speaking of, you technically own Fort Knox now. How are you so broke?”

                “I’m not going to discuss the Republic’s finances with you. And there’s no way to get into it, stupid. Trust me; Foster tried, I’ve tried. It was built to go on lockdown if it lost power and the generators failed. All that gold is just sitting there and nobody can touch it.” Realizing that they’d gotten off topic, he tried again. “So what was the contingency plan when you got caught?”

                “There wasn’t one. The plan was to not get caught.” Miles said. This was going to get nowhere, so he decided to lay it all out there. “Connor wrote to us; you’ve read what he said. All we wanted was to get to Charlie and get back out again. I didn’t know how he planned on taking over, and I quite frankly didn’t want to know.”

                “You expect me to believe that you just waltzed in and planned on waltzing back out again?” He was having trouble believing that Miles would involve himself without having more control over the situation. He gauged their reactions carefully.            

                Miles shrugs. “So it wasn’t exactly one of my best plans. I went in first to get to you. You were the bargaining chip in case things went south.”

                “And Rachel?” He’d found it strange that Miles had allowed her to go in separately.

                “Connor said his contacts told him that Charlie was being held somewhere on the other side of the compound. One of the guards was to let me know when they got her out. After that we were gone. Anything that happened after that didn’t have anything to do with us. Bass, I didn’t go in there with plans to kill you. Connor may have thought I was, but I couldn’t--”

                “You were just going to let my kid do it instead,” he murmured, not even bothering to hide how much that wounded him. He turned to go back out the door. He’d found out the one thing he wanted to know—Miles really had just been a pawn, not a planner. He’d let his anger cloud his judgment enough to let Connor use him, but he wasn’t behind the attack itself. “You’re to remain in confinement for the time being. Charlie and Harris will try to keep your names out of the investigation, but I’m guaranteeing nothing. If the tribunal decides to charge you, I cannot interfere. And I will stand by whatever verdicts they reach, including sentencing. I can’t afford to put myself above the law because of family or past connections.”

                Miles and Rachel watched him leave. They locked eyes, both letting his words wash over them. He wasn’t going to harm them, but he wasn’t exactly going to protect them either. If he was telling the truth, he was fully planning on letting the legal machine run its course. The fact that there were laws and some semblance of legal system in this new incarnation of the Republic left them dumbfounded.

                Before, Monroe had been the judge and jury when it came to crimes against the state—the militia had handled everything else. There’d been no trials, no formal investigations. If you were caught doing something, you were shot and killed. If you had something the militia wanted, they claimed you were caught doing something and you were still shot and killed.

                “We may have made a very big mistake,” Miles finally said. They’d come east fully expecting to find things just as they’d always been, but Monroe had actually surprised them both. With a heavy heart, Miles went back to the window and resumed watching those that passed below the window. He knew then that he’d destroyed what little chance there’d been of fixing their fucked up friendship.  

 


	11. You Thought Your Job Sucked Before?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the beginning of part II of our story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> : I am very sorry for the long delay guys. Thank you to anyone that’s still with me at this point. The holidays are always nuts in my industry and it makes for long shifts and extra shifts, which left little time for writing—especially when I had a one shot and another multi fic thrown in there too. Which, btw the extra fic I posted on ao3 will be up on ffnet in the next week or so once I’ve reformatted it and done some corrections (the corrected version will be up on ao3 too hopefully).   
> Writing that story changed the ending of this one, because I felt the very ends had just enough similarity that it would have taken away from this one. I spent weeks trying to figure out where I wanted this one to go and finally think I’ve got it right and I’m happy with it, even though it ended up taking this story somewhere I hadn’t expected.  
> This chapter isn’t very long, considering the wait, but the happy news is that this story is completely written and typed out. I will be posting 1-2 chapters a day until it’s finished (a total of I believe about 22k words! Yikes!). It really depends on how much proofing I get done in the meantime. So, there will definitely be no more long delays because it’s complete.   
> As a heads up, there are a few dark chapters ahead, but I really wanted to explore the General Monroe we knew in season one a little, and I had initially intended this story to deal with Monroe’s mental instability and suicidal tendencies. This didn’t go as deep into that as I’d initially planned, but I think it’s a better story for it. You may consider the previous chapters part 1 of this fic. The next several are really part 2, and the final few chapters are really part 3 (they go off in a direction and take Monroe and Charlie to a place I hadn’t expected until I got there).   
> Thanks again to everyone that’s commented and given loves to this, and I know I still owe (and am dying to give) comments and love to a lot of stories out there. I’m still a lot behind.

_Seven days after the attack…_

                Monroe sat in his office, going over reports that Charlie had sent up for his review. Right from the start, he’d recused himself from the investigation. He hadn’t wanted the witch hunt that had occurred the last time Miles tried to kill him in his sleep, so instead he’d taken a step back and had allowed Charlie and Harris to take over. Of course, he was still apprised of every development, but it all went on without his interference.

                They made sure that there was a complete written record of all interrogations and that at least one member of the Tribunal was present at all times. It was the only way to avoid the same types of rumors and accusations that had circulated in the aftermath of Miles’ betrayal in Philadelphia.

                The latest report didn’t tell him anything new. As far as they’d been able to discern, Connor had very little help. The guards in Jasper hadn’t been involved; they’d just been complacent with what was essentially babysitting duty. Connor hadn’t been exactly incarcerated, after all. He’d just been on house arrest to keep him out of trouble.

                House arrest had even been too strong a term for it. He’d been allowed out of his mother’s home to run errands, have a drink or two at the local bar and so on. He’d just been subject to a strict curfew and had not been allowed private company—not even a hooker.

                Their job included making sure that he didn’t go out at night and that he stayed in Jasper. Since he’d made no attempt to escape in all the months he’d been there, they hadn’t expected that he’d try at all. Miles had no problem getting him out, but then again, Miles knew both the house and town perfectly.

                He was setting the report aside when Harris came in. “The Tribunal has just finished interviewing General Adams,” he said as he sat down to go over the minutes with him.

                “And?”

                “He implicated Colonel Gray as being one of Connor’s backers. One of his men found a letter between them that suggests the attack on the Rebels had been orchestrated by your son to increase the instability up north—a distraction,” Harris explained.

                “But that was months ago,” Monroe pointed out as he rubbed his temples. He’d been going all week on very little sleep and his head was pounding. None of it made any sense. “How would that help him now?”

                “Maybe his own attack was delayed? Or, maybe he was looking for something more long term.” In reality, Harris’ guess was as good as anyone else’s. He and Charlie had looked at every angle, and from what they could tell, there was nothing there.

                “There had to be a bigger conspiracy,” he insisted. “Otherwise, what was the point?” Indeed, that was the burning question that had been keeping him up at night for the past week. Why attack when there was no hope of winning? Granted, there was no way to uncover everyone involved, but this was shaping up to look like a minor inside job. If that was the case, he’d never had a hope to hold on to the Republic, even if he’d managed to kill both him and Charlie.

                Harris watched Monroe closely—he could almost see the wheels turning in his head. He didn’t look good and every day it seemed to be worse. “Permission to speak freely, sir?” he said after several minutes of silence.

                Monroe looked up at him. The request sent his mind back in time. Suddenly, he was back in Philly with Jeremy. Poor Jeremy that had been his friend right up until the end—right up until Monroe had ordered him killed for a betrayal that he’d never committed. He remembered Jeremy asking him that same question.

                Jeremy had been one of the first to sign up for his and Miles’ earliest incarnation of the militia. He’d always said and done what he wanted up until the last few years. It wasn’t until Monroe had been absolutely at his worst that Jeremy had started walking on eggshells around him.

                “Shawn, just say what’s on your mind. When we’re alone, you don’t have to ask permission,” Monroe finally said. When the look on Harris’ face suggested he felt otherwise, he felt the need to clarify. “Listen, we’re friends. If I _ever_ tell you that you can’t speak freely, you either need to shoot me, or throw me in the looney bin.”

                “Well okay then,” Harris said with a nervous laugh. He wondered then if his superior officer realized how off he’d been acting over the past few days. “You look like shit. Maybe you need to take a few days off,” he suggested.

                Monroe shook his head. “I’m fine, Shawn. With everything that’s been going on, you know I can’t afford to do that.”

                Harris leaned forward in his chair. “Why don’t you go talk to her?” Charlie had always been the only one Monroe had listened to when someone had to force him to take a break.

                “Charlie’s made it very clear that our relationship is professional and nothing more,” Monroe spat bitterly. “And I’d rather not talk about it.”

                Harris gave up. He thought they were both being stupid. He knew that Charlie was avoiding Monroe because she was worried that he’d blame her for what her family had done. To give the general credit, he did swallow his pride a little after four days and had sent for her, but Charlie hadn’t been able to face him yet.

                As far as he knew, she hadn’t seen him since the night of the attack and Monroe was not better for it, as she’d thought. He was obsessing and working non-stop. They both knew how he got when he subjected himself to that. Adding that to the fact that they’d come up with so few answers thus far, he started to become more suspicious, and in that was a recipe for a serious problem.

                Harris got up. “I’ll let you know when we find anything else out. Did you need anything?”

                “If you happen to see Sally, have her send a bottle up,” was all Monroe said as he picked up a stack of papers of his desk, thoroughly dismissing him. When Harris was gone, he tossed them back on his desk and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes against the lamplight, which only seemed to make the pain worse.

                All hell was breaking loose already. The representative from Florida had high-tailed it back to Tallahassee the morning after the attack. Monroe knew that the deal was off the table, not that he could blame anyone for it. If their situations were reversed, there was no way in hell that he’d get into bed politically with someone that had barely survived being murdered by his own son for control of the country.

                On top of that, Harris having brought up Charlie only seemed to remind him how much it hurt to know that whereas she tried to get in to see her mother and Miles almost daily, she basically wanted nothing to do with him. He knew he’d fucked up badly when he’d pushed her away in the week before the attack, but her concern right after it suggested that she still cared at least a little.

                The truth was he needed her. She was like his lodestone that helped keep is head on straight. That she’d helped ease his workload was only a small part of it. It was as if her very presence gave him the perspective he needed to muddle through the stress and hell that came with running a country.

                Charlie’s involvement in the investigation meant that someone had to take over some of her pervious duties. That someone ended up being Monroe. As he took those duties back over, it became increasingly more difficult for him to make it through the day.

                The added stress of it all was taking a toll on him, but he had to muddle through. Even without the recent chaos, there were still things that needed his constant attention. A miner’s strike in West Virginia; bickering between the south and north over how much of the early crops would be sent to other regions of the Republic; whether or not the Republic could still afford to build that new dam in Ohio. The list went on and on.

                Normally he’d have handled the miner’s strike personally and delegated the rest out, but he was stuck with all of it. As taxes for the first half of the year came in, he had to review everything—part of the hard currency that had come in would have to go to Texas, but he still had to pay the militia. The same went with the portion of the taxes that were paid in the form of food. How much to keep? How much to pass on?

                With every day that passed it seemed the demand and pressure of the Republic just pushed on him further. He felt increasingly oppressed by it and the worse it got, the less he felt like he was accomplishing. Negotiations with the rebel factions had all but ceased and it seemed more and more that at some point the violence there would boil over. He was losing his grip on his country, and it felt like there was no way to stop it.

 


	12. Prison Breaks and Apologies Rendered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little longer, with a bit of smut thrown in because I can… A bit of stress, a bit of happiness and the calm before the storm… I know I promised a chapter or more a day, but I took an overly long nap before work and didn’t have the time to post before going in. I’ll post chapter 13 (I hope) before work tomorrow.

_Twenty-three Days After The Attack…_

The investigation was slowly starting to wind down. Charlie had spent the past week or so following leads in Jasper, only to return to Nashville empty handed. While she’d been gone one very nervous corporal had come forward on behalf of his company and implicated his commanding officer and both lieutenants under him.

                The night of the attack, they’d hinted that some changes may have been on the horizon and had tried to feel out the attitudes of the men they lead. It had taken the men almost two weeks to decide that there was more to it than just talk and they’d taken a vote behind the officers’ backs to come forward.

                It hadn’t taken Harris very long to get them to confess their involvement. They’d been garrisoned in Indy before Monroe had moved men around following the massacre up north and had come into contact with Connor there. They’d pledged their loyalty in exchange for a promise to promote them to the new tribunal when it was created.

                On the night of the attack, they were to order their men to aid in taking the compound, but in the end they’d backed out. It hadn’t been guilt or a newfound loyalty to their commander in chief that stayed their hands—it had been their lack of confidence in their men. And, they’d been right on that account. The men had remained loyal to Monroe, which had been the officers’ ultimate undoing once they’d been turned in.

                As the weeks had passed, Monroe found himself growing more lonely and isolated. Charlie’s absence had not only left him feeling empty and alone, but had also meant that Harris was working double time outside of the compound as well. There was no one to break up the long hours of work and stress.

                By the time that Charlie returned to Nashville, he was depressed, exhausted and increasingly paranoid. He frequently could be seen staring various members of both the household and administrative staff, as if he was trying to see if they had anything to hide.

                The entire compound felt his change in demeanor. They were tiptoeing around him like he was ready to explode, which only made him feel more isolated. It was like in Philly all over again, only this time he could actually feel himself going crazy. The last time he’d been unaware of how nuts he’d become until he’d lost everything because of it.

                Monroe was just finishing up his lonely dinner alone in his quarters, away from the prying and nervous eyes of the people around him. A gentle knock on the door to his quarters startled him out of his thoughts. Before he had a chance to respond, the door swung open and Charlie was standing there before him.

                “You have a second?” she asked, looking almost wary.

                Monroe nodded as he pushed his plate away. He grabbed his whiskey and got up from the small table. With a gesture towards the sofa, he waited for her to sit down and then joined her. He didn’t speak, just watched her. This was the first time she’d come to his private quarters since the night all hell broke loose and he was torn between his need for her and his anger at her for having avoided him.

                “You don’t look so good,” she began, her concern showing through.

                He took a drink and shrugged. “The last few weeks have been a little stressful.”

                “I know.” Charlie hesitated for a few moments before breaking into the topic that had brought her here. “I wanted to talk to you about Miles and my mom.”

                “What about them?” Monroe asked, stiffening. He was a little put off that her reason for being there had nothing to do with him at all.

                “I know you’re angry—and you have every right to be. I’m mad at them too, but isn’t it time you let them out? You know they didn’t plan this.”

                Monroe clenched his jaw and grasped desperately at his own temper. “Why is it that you always seemed more concerned with the fact that they’re locked up than the fact that they tried to _kill_ me—and that they almost got you killed in the process?”

                Charlie was clearly wounded at the insinuation. “That’s not fair. They’re my _family_.”

                “They’re attempted assassins. I think that I’ve been very accommodating, all things considered. I’ve let you keep them off the Tribunal’s radar and they’re comfortable and cared for,” he ground out through gritted teeth.

                “At least let me see them,” she practically begged.

                Monroe stood up and crossed the room to refill his glass. Maybe another drink would extinguish the flames of anger that rose within him. “The answer is no. Just whose side are you on?”

                “Do you even hear yourself? What’s happening to you?” Charlie spat the words at him. This was the second time he questioned her loyalty since she’d sat down and she’d be damned if she’d let him continue to do so.

                “Maybe if you’d have been around a little, you’d know,” Monroe countered, the bitterness flowing out of him.

                Charlie got up and headed towards the door, unable to look at him any longer. “Maybe if you hadn’t been acting like a child, I would have been.” She left him with those words as she stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

                Monroe’s first instinct was to have her brought back to answer for her behavior, but he after a brief and intense struggle, he stopped himself. Deep down inside, a tiny voice of sanity told him she was right. That sliver of rational thought stayed him. Instead, he sat back down and proceeded to get drunk enough to pass out.

                The next morning, he found himself still sitting there. He managed to pull himself up and get it together enough to start his day. He went from one meeting to another, but his thoughts stayed focused on their fight. After picking at his lunch, Monroe found himself outside of the quarters that had been a prison for the elder two Mathesons over the past weeks.

                After sending the guards off with new instructions, he unlocked the door himself and stepped inside. Miles and Rachel were just finishing up their own meal. They both stood and eyed him warily as he stared them down.

                “You’re both to have full access of the residential half of the compound—except the third floor in the other wing.” There was no way he wanted either of them anywhere near his quarters. The last thing he needed was to worry about a repeat of that night three weeks ago—he knew he was barely hanging on as it was.

                “What?” Miles asked, incredulous. He’d given up on being released any time soon.

                “You may stay in the compound for as long as you wish, or other arrangements may be made if you want to stay elsewhere in Nashville. Harris will see to it a train takes you anywhere you wish to go, should you decide to leave the city.” He turned and reached for the door. “Try not to take any more hostages while you’re here,” he added over his shoulder before leaving them.

                Miles and Rachel shared a worried look. He was letting them out with very little restrictions, which was more than they expected, but there was something about the way he carried himself now that had them worried. They’d both seen him this way before, and it did not bode well.

                Late that evening, Monroe was weighing the options of getting completely tanked versus going to bed when Charlie barged in once more. “Why did you let them out?” she asked.

                “Do you really need to ask that?” It struck him straight through the middle when she looked down at the floor rather than respond. He knew he’d been an ass when he’d pushed her away, but he still couldn’t believe that things had deteriorated that badly between them so quickly. “I let them out for you.”

                Charlie closed the distance between them, both physically and otherwise. Her hand on his cheek was all it took to break the wall down he’d constructed around himself ever since he’d found out that Connor had left Jasper.

                Moving fast enough to almost startle her, Monroe yanked Charlie too him. He’d had enough of being apart and wasn’t going to let a chance to mend things go to waste. When she didn’t protest, he crashed his mouth down on hers. When she eagerly responded, he decided to take a risk; he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom.

                He hesitated in the doorway for just long enough to give Charlie a chance to change her mind. When no protest came, he laid her gently on the bed. When she kicked off her shoes, sending one flying across the room, he let a relieved laugh escape. If she was that eager, he had nothing to worry about.

                He sat down on the edge of the bed to remove his boots and then stretched out next to her. Gathering Charlie up in his arms, Monroe kissed her with a desperation he’d never known before. She opened for him, sighing as he swept inside, his tongue demanding a response from hers. Charlie eagerly kissed him back, her hands already working his shirt off.

                He shrugged out of it and then yanked the undershirt he wore over his head. When he lowered his head again, his lips found her neck. “I missed you,” he murmured as he worked down to the neckline of her shirt. Finding that it was in his way, he pulled it from her and continued on to her breasts.

                Charlie panted and ran her fingers through his hair as Monroe cupped her breasts through her bra, bringing them together and pressing slow kisses between them. She arched her back and snaked her own hand under her back to undo the clasp, but he stopped her. “That’s my job,” he lightly admonished as he took over the task, flicking it open expertly.

                He tossed the garment over his shoulder and went back to work, massaging and kissing the soft orbs, his tongue lashing at one nipple and then another. Already hard, he ground against her so she’d have no doubts about what she did to him.

                Charlie was already bucking against his thigh, which pressed down on the apex of her legs. The friction was delicious. Taking the hint, he moved with her, chuckling when she started to whimper for more. Leaving her breasts, he placed hot kisses down her belly, fingers working her pants loose.

                His rough hands skimmed her flesh as he brought them down. She all but screamed when his tongue met her skin right above the line of her panties. “Bass,” she moaned. “Please.”

                He smiled to himself as he drew her cotton panties down, revealing her to him. She kicked her feet in an attempt to remove her pants the rest of the way. He stilled her with his hands and then did the honors for her so he could spread her thighs wide.

                Settling between her legs, he parted the soft curls and lapped gently, running just the tip of his tongue up her slit, groaning at the taste of her desire for him that seeped through her soft folds. With Charlie’s hand on the back of his head, he parted her completely and began making love to her with his mouth, his tongue slowly working in and out of her as she moved her hips in time to his licks.

                “Oh god,” she gasped as she threw her legs over his shoulders, locking him in place. He pulled back just a little and began to use his fingers to ply her, lowering his mouth again to torture her clit. He sucked on the sensitive nub gently as he worked two fingers in and out of her.

                Charlie pumped her hip faster now, the buildup within her almost unbearable. She was just on the precipice when he slid up her body, earning him a frustrated whine. “Not without me,” Monroe said as he lowered his lips to hers once more, the musky flavor of her arousal overwhelming and intoxicating them both.

                Desperate for release, Charlie found his belt and scrambled to undo it and then work on his pants. He rolled off of her just long enough to yank them down, kicking himself free of his pants and boxers before settling between her legs once more.

                Charlie guided him towards her center and he slammed into her, groaning as she sheathed him completely. “God, you feel good,” he told her.

                Too worked up to even process his words, Charlie wrapped her legs around him and grabbed at his ass with both hands and trying to pull him closer. When he pulled back and sank back in, she thought she was going to die.

                Throbbing and unable to hold back, his thrusts were swift and forceful. Charlie gave as good as she got, bucking under him, meeting him each time he surged forward to reenter her. She urged him on, as she quickly built back up, cresting within minutes. She called his name as she clamped down, her body going rigid while she climaxed.

                Urged on by her orgasm and his own pressing need, Monroe thrust wildly, all pretenses of rhythm and finesse lost in his haste. His mouth came crashing down as he lost control. One hand was under her ass, fingers digging in and forcing her pelvis up every time he slammed back in. Just when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore, he finally found his release. With a growl in his throat, he came hard, shooting himself deep inside as his whole body tensed up.

                “Fuck,” he panted as he eased off, aware that he may have been a bit rough with her. He didn’t want to crush her, but was loath to pull out so soon, so he used what was left of his energy to roll them both over.

                Charlie let out a satisfied purr. He was still just hard enough to remain inside her. She wrapped her limbs around him and buried her face in his neck as they laid there, hearts still pounding and slick bodies pressed close.

                They dozed that way for quite some time. Eventually, Monroe slipped out of her. Resettling her in the crook of his arm, he held on tight, as if he was afraid she’d disappear if he let go of her. Charlie sighed in contentment as his thumb lightly stroked her upper arm.

                “I needed you,” he eventually said. “Where were you?”

                “Not far away,” she murmured. “I’m sorry I stayed away. After what they did—all because I was too stupid to tell them where I was… I didn’t know how to face you.”

                Monroe tightened his arms around her, feeling better than he had in weeks. It didn’t take very long for him to fall asleep. If he’d only have known that it this renewed happiness would be only fleeting, he’d have gone slower and savored the afterglow just a little longer.

 


	13. First Class Seats on the Crazy Train

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, our hero is his own worst enemy. This chapter explores is paranoid tendencies… By the end of this you’re all probably going to be saying “Why is why not always so mean to these guys?” I promise that this is a catalyst for a happy ending in the end. This chapter marks where the storylines split quite a bit. This had been headed one direction, but after my other fix (which, apologies is still not on off), I decided that the endings were too similar.  
>  Initially, this was to explore not his paranoia, but his depression and tendencies towards self-harm. Instead of the chapter ending the way it does, Monroe was going to get dragged off by friends and family for a little sabbatical and then disappear, only for everyone to find out that he’d given it all away before it was too late. But, since I had him doing that in my extra fix (albeit for different reasons entirely), I decided to alter this ending and hence this chapter came out.   
>  So, bear with me and I promise to get everyone where they need to be for a happy ending. On a side note, Miles and Rachel kind of take a back seat for this next chunk of story in a sense that they were never major characters in it to begin with. Although there is one chapter that is totally romance (strictly platonic) mile that exists to a) provide very much needed comic relief and b) help wrap things up in what (I hope) is an awesome way.

Little by little, things began to slowly settle down. The nation was still in shambles, but having someone by his side to help him muck his way through it made things a hell of a lot easier on Monroe. Reconciling with Charlie definitely had a positive effect on his disposition, for one thing, and he got more done when the people around him weren’t spending so much time scurrying out of his way.

                Charlie had badgered him into at least talking to Miles (she knew better to expect any type of gesture towards her mother). It hadn’t been easy for either man, and true to their natures they’d come up with an uneasy compromise: Miles wouldn’t kill him for sleeping with his niece; Monroe wouldn’t kill him for believing him capable of Connor’s lies and trying to act upon that belief.

                Miles had tried to take a things a small step further by offering to help clean up the mess that he’d helped to create, however Monroe wasn’t quite willing to trust him that far. Charlie had done her best to convince him otherwise; if anything, Miles’ assistance would lessen his burden further, but that was one thing he refused to budge on.

                He was willing to share an occasional drink with her uncle, and maybe he would eventually forgive him for the betrayal. Involving him with the daily running of the Republic was just a bit much. What he didn’t tell her was that he had a small fear that the Tribunal would not take kindly to him bringing Miles on board. Once he’d changed things and given them more power, he was stuck in the precarious position of having to let them wield it and subjecting himself to their whims.

                He was already butting heads with them when it came to his son. The only loose thread from the last month remained his trial. The Tribunal was pushing for it to begin so that the matter of his attempted coup could finally be resolved, but Monroe had been stalling as long as he could. He knew that it could only end one way. The outcome was inevitable, but he was still grasping at straws.  He didn’t know if he had it in him to sign his son’s death warrant when the Tribunal convicted him of treason.

                Charlie urged Monroe to get it over with. She told him that he’d never find any peace as long as it loomed over them. The Republic couldn’t move on with this last piece of the puzzle still unresolved; _he_ couldn’t move on either.

                _Thirty-two days after the attack…_

                Monroe sat at his desk, still worrying over the issue when his newly appointed secretary came in with a stack of dispatches. He saluted and then left without a word. With a sigh, Monroe started to pick through them. Although Harris was a perfect fit for his new position as head of security, he missed the easy rapport they’d had when he’d held his previous position.

                One of the items in the stack was a lot larger and heavier than the rest. Curious, he opened the package. Inside were a newspaper and a letter from Frank Blanchard. He read the letter first and then, with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach picked up the paper. ..

                Charlie went to Monroe’s quarters to join him for lunch. When she found them empty and no evidence that he’d been there yet, she went down to the office he was now using on the other side of the compound. It was the one that he’d only once used for formal occasions, but he’d recently moved everything there. At her insistence, he’d agreed to keep work at work. It had been an interesting transition, but he’d found a way to make due.

                “I thought you were going to take a break,” she said upon entering. She stopped short when she saw the strained look on his face. “What’s happened?”

                Monroe held up the newspaper that Blanchard had sent. “This was published just two days after Connor made his move,” he said flatly.

                “What?” Charlie grabbed the pages from him. The headline had chills running up and down her spine. _Eastern Republic in shambles after attempted coup._

                She scanned the article in disbelief. It was all there in print—Connor’s attack on the compound, Miles and Rachel’s involvement. The article went further to delve into the nature of her previous relationship with Connor, and then went on to describe hers with Monroe.

                In it, Connor was rumored to have told a follower that his father’s poor judgment in elevating Charlie to his second in command and heir to the Republic had been the motivation behind the attack. The article painted Monroe as an idiot and her as nothing more than a manipulative whore that had gone after both men, eventually pitting father and son against one another.

                “How did they even find out about the attack this fast?” She asked as she lowered the paper, letting it slip from her fingers back onto his desk.

                “Exactly, Charlie.” He was livid and had been fighting his temper since he’d first read the letter and article. “One minute, you’re telling me you can’t find any evidence of a larger conspiracy, and then the next, Frank Blanchard is sending me this? If there wasn’t anyone else involved, then _what the hell_ is this then?”

                Something about the tone he was using caught her attention. “I don’t know.”

                “News doesn’t travel this fast—added to the fact that there are only a handful of people with ties to Texas that know about you and Connor—even fewer that also knew about you and me,” Monroe rose out his chair and leaned forward on the desk as he spoke, “… you expect me to believe that this is all just a coincidence?”

                Charlie refused to let him intimidate her. The tactic pissed her off to no end. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

                “It’s all too convenient. You spent months worming your way in, throwing yourself at me—you even admitted it. Then, a week after you finally get me to cave, your family helps my kid escape and then helps him try to kill me?” He snatched up the paper and threw it at her. “And now the entirety of Texas knows about it just two days later?”

                Charlie took a step back, “Bass you know I didn’t have anything to do with this.” Her voice was shaking, but he couldn’t tell if it was fear or outrage.

                “Do I? Apparently, I don’t know jack shit anymore,” Monroe said, his accusation hanging coldly between them.

                “You’re losing it,” she said with a shake of her head. “Do you even hear yourself?”

                “The more I think about it, the more it makes sense.” Monroe was holding on to the very last shred of his control. He turned and grabbed the decanter on the sideboard behind his desk, hoping another drink would steady him enough to stop him from doing something rash.

                “It never made sense that Connor would try something with so little to back it up—but not if you were in on it the entire time.”

                “He tried to kill me too, remember?” Charlie snapped. The conversation was getting out of hand. She knew it, and deep down, Monroe did too. Still, they were both helpless to stop it.

                “Maybe not. Things are obviously not what they seem. One thing’s for sure—you seemed so worried about them, way more than you ever were about what they tried to do.” Monroe tossed the drink back and slammed the glass down, cracking it and cutting his hand. He didn’t even feel it.

                “They’re my family. I can be worried about them and still hold them accountable. I can love them and still be loyal to you.” Her eyes welled up with hurt and rage.

                Charlie’s tears only enflamed his temper further, and he lost his battle against it. “Get out,” he snarled.

                “Bass—“ Charlie began, hoping to calm him down so they could talk about it rationally.

                Monroe cut her off. “I said, _Get Out!”_ he bellowed.

                Charlie just stared at him for a second, before turning and fleeing out into the hallway, letting the door slam shut with a resounding bang. Monroe dragged a hand through his hair. Picking up the decanter, he intended to pour another drink. When he looked down at the shards of glass on his desk, he stopped. He threw the decanter at the door as hard as he could, watching in slow motions as it exploded into pieces, soaking the wood.

                As angry as he was, there was a small voice inside his head again, desperate to be heard, and try as he might, he couldn’t quite banish it. _You’ve really fucked up this time, moron_. Monroe sat back down, slumping in his chair in absolute misery.

                He was torn between his natural inclination for suspicion and his feelings for Charlie. If he was wrong, he’d just lost one of the few people in the world that actually bothered to give a damn about him. If he was right, he’d never had her to lose.

                Harris barged in an hour later. “What have you done?”

                Monroe looked up, his eyes flashing in renewed anger. “Watch yourself, Captain.”

                The warning was ignored and Harris stepped over the broken remnants of the decanter and went straight for it. “Are you fucking insane? How could you accuse her like that? You _know_ she’s innocent. I don’t know what game Connor was playing, or how that reporter knew about the attack, but I do know that Charlie has never betrayed you.”

                “Shawn, I’m warning you. Stay out of it,” Monroe said, his words clipped.

                “No, somebody needs to say it. You’re paranoid and you’re driving yourself crazy with it. I get it, we don’t know who to trust and it’s hard to believe he had so little help, but all of this was Connor. He lied to Matheson, you saw the letter yourself. If you’re not careful, your own paranoia is going to cost you everything.”

                “I’m already losing everything. Because of that article, all aid from Texas has been suspended. Congress is debating whether or not to call in all the debt I owe them.” He tossed the letter that Blanchard had sent with the article. “This was a friendly warning from Blanchard. Because of the attack and the fact that they found out I’ve been fucking my kid’s ex, Congress is questioning my ability to lead and are afraid that the Republic won’t recover. It’s only a matter of time before the Tribunal comes to the same conclusions.”

                “But it wasn’t her,” Harris insisted. He loomed over Monroe, desperate to get through to him. “You really hurt her, Bass. She didn’t deserve that from you. She’s turned her life upside down to be here with you—to help you when no one else would. She’s loved you enough to put up with your bullshit all these months. She deserves better than what you’ve just done to her.”

                With that, he stormed out of the room. As far as he was concerned, he was off duty for the rest of the day. He couldn’t stomach the look of Monroe at the moment, let alone stand guarding over him. He immediately went to go check on Charlie. He’d left her crying in her quarters.

                When he answered her muffled assent that he could enter, she was busy packing her things. “Don’t go,” he practically begged. “He was wrong and he’ll see it when he calms down. He needs you now more than ever.”

                He took the time to explain the latest developments with Texas. Clearly she would see that the Republic collapsing was bigger than any one of them. Charlie shook her head sadly. “I can’t help him anymore. He doesn’t need me, he needs a fucking shrink. He’s gone insane—he’s every bit of the monster he was in Philly, and there’s nothing I can say or do that will pull him out of it. I’m going home.”

                She went over to her desk and grabbed a folded piece of paper. “Give this to him for me? Just, make sure we’re already gone before you do.”

                Harris sadly accepted it before leaving her to finish packing alone. He was halfway to his own quarters when he changed his mind. He stomped back over to Monroe’s office, kicking the door open, and taking grim satisfaction in the fact that Monroe jumped a little at the sound.

                “She’s leaving you,” he said. “You’re not going to get another chance to stop her.”

                Monroe’s heart broke. He wanted to go after her, but knew it wouldn’t make any difference—that and the darkness inside of him was practically screaming that her flight only proved that she’d betrayed him. Determined that he’d survive the day at all costs, he shot out of his chair.

                As always, his security detail was stationed just outside of the room. “Come with me,” he told them as he headed across the compound with Harris following behind them. When they entered the main entrance of the residential side, he stopped.

                He ordered two of his own personal guards to grab a few extra hands to collect Rachel and Miles. “Bring them to the main gate immediately.”

                He continued on, stopping just outside of Charlie’s quarters. “See to it she’s fully packed and at the main gate in the next fifteen minutes,” he said before disappearing down the hallway.

                He waited for them outside by the gate. When everyone was present and accounted for, he stared them down coldly. “Charlotte Matheson, you are stripped of your rank and are officially discharged from the militia. In other words—you’re fired. Any claim you once had as next in line for the presidency has been revoked.

                “Harris and his men will personally escort you all to the train station. I don’t care where you go, as long as it’s on the other side of the river. If you’re ever caught within our borders, you’ll be tried as spies and for your involvement on Connor’s attack against the Republic.”

                Monroe narrowed his eyes at Charlie as he finished his cruel farewell. “I never want to lay eyes on anyone with the name Matheson again.”

                He turned away from them, heading back inside the compound. He didn’t even want to see their reaction to his words—and he didn’t want them to see him fall apart. It had taken everything he’d had to follow through with it and he didn’t think he’d keep his resolve if the saw an ounce of regret from Charlie or Miles (he knew better than to think Rachel gave a tinkers damn about being ejected back to Texas).

                He headed directly to the Tribunal’s wing of the compound and barged into the chairman’s office. “My son’s trial begins tomorrow,” he informed the man before fleeing to the privacy of his own quarters.

                While Monroe hid himself away, Harris did as he was ordered. There hadn’t been a train scheduled to depart, so they had to wait for one to take on coal and water. This departure would only carry the three unwelcomed guests as they made their way back to Texas.

                “I’m so sorry,” Harris told Charlie right before she boarded. “He’s not himself right now, and he knows it. This is probably for the best. I know he doesn’t want to see you hurt—you know it too.”

                Charlie gave him a hug. “Take care of yourself, okay? Shawn, I swear if he gets worse you’d better get the hell out of there. You can always come to Willoughby if you need to.”

                “I’m a big boy, I’ll be just fine,” he said sadly.  “And don’t worry; I’ll take care of him for you.”    

                Fighting the urge to cry again, Charlie nodded. “Thank you, Shawn.” A quick hug later and she joined her family on the one passenger car that was hooked up to the engine. Harris stood on the platform until the train was gone from sight.

                As the sun set in the west, Monroe sat on Charlie’s bed. The room having grown dark, he raised the bottle he held to his lips and tried to drink the pain of the day away. Shortly after Charlie had stormed out of his office, he’d calmed down enough to look at everything from a different angle.

                Of course, she hadn’t leaked that story. He knew better, but the fact that his thoughts had immediately gone in that direction terrified him. It had been like watching himself through a foggy window as the peace and hope he’d felt over the past days had been torn from him.

                He’d already made the decision to send her away before Harris had come to tell him she was planning to leave. She’d just made it easier. In the end, it didn’t matter what he knew or believed. What mattered was the Republic and the people within it.

                If Charlie remained in Nashville, it would only be seen as proof that the article had been right. He’d only shown her the newspaper, not Blanchard’s letter. Congress suspected that she was involved in Connor’s coup. If there was any hope of showing Texas that he could get things back under control, he couldn’t have her by his side while he worked to stabilize the country.

                He didn’t know how he was going to do it without her, but he had no choice now. Besides all that was the fact that he knew what was happening to him—he knew who he was becoming. He didn’t want her to see him that way. Who would? He’d only hurt her further. Today had only been accusations and a screaming match.

                What would happen the next time? As soon as he’d come down from the high of his rage, he’d remembered what happened to the last person that was stupid enough to remain close to him during such a fit. Poor Jeremy had stayed with him through the bitter end, and where had that gotten him? No, it was better that she was gone and Miles right along with her.

                He was more afraid for them than he was anything else. He finally accepted it—the darkness he’d been trying so hard to keep at bay was a part of him and he could only hold it back for so long. Once it took back over and he snapped, they’d only be in his blast radius. It was far kinder for them to be sent packing and hate him for it than it would be to hurt them when the General inside took him over.

                Lost in these thoughts and in his own sorrow, he continued to drink until the room began to fade and the ceiling spun above him. He woke up the next day on the floor, having fallen off the bed as he’d passed out. The room was sweltering and the sun was high in the sky. He stayed on the floor until the events of the previous day came rushing back. Eventually he pulled himself together enough to get up and retreat to his own quarters to get cleaned up—his son’s trial would already be under way…  

 


	14. Final Nail In This Coffin Was Overdue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long awaited reunion between father and son...

                “Leave us,” Monroe commanded the guards that kept constant watch over the bank vault that had been converted into a jail cell for his son. If he’d learned anything from his capture in Texas, it was that banks made the perfect place to house the most dangerous of criminals.

                The head guard fought the urge to protest. If only for the safety of their leader, he didn’t want to leave, but the look on Monroe’s face told him that any argument would not be taken lightly. Instead, he opened the vault and ordered his men to wait outside after making sure that his prisoner was securely chained to the wall.

                Monroe stepped inside the vault. His son sat on the cot that had been brought in for his use, staring blankly ahead. “You’ve certainly made a mess of things.”

                Connor refused to acknowledge his presence. This was the first time that Monroe had seen him since the night of the attack. All things considered, his progeny didn’t look all that worse for wear. When the young man didn’t answer, Monroe got as close as he could while still remaining out of reach. “Did you really think you’d get away with it? That you could bring me down?”

                His son responded by laughing. “I already did,” he said as a smile spread across his face. “Look at you—if anything I’d say that everything has right according to plan.”

                “Says the guy that’s just been convicted of treason,” Monroe said as he leaned up against the wall, trying his best to feign a casualness that he didn’t feel. “How was _that_ a part of the plan?”

                Connor finally looked at him. “You’re still living under the assumption that taking over the Republic was the point of it all. Don’t get me wrong, had I actually been able to pull off killing you—and I almost did, I’d have taken it gladly. That was just plan B.”

                “Is that so? Well, in that case, enlighten me,” Monroe said with a sweep of his hand.

                Connor stood up then and shuffled forward as far as his chains would allow. “You’re so stupid. This had nothing to do with the Republic and everything to do with you. Why else do you think I got Miles involved?”

                “How else were you going to get out of Jasper and get into the compound?”

                “Really?” Connor’s smile got only bigger. “Please, I didn’t need Miles. By the time I escaped, I had every soldier in Jasper convinced I was a model prisoner. And I had Levins, remember? He could have gotten me in without anyone the wiser. I got Miles involved because I knew it would wreck you—and I was right.”

                Monroe took an involuntary step back. “Why— so all of this was just to fuck with my head?”

                Connor tapped a finger on his nose, the chains rattling as he moved. “Why else?”

                “So that’s why you went after her? Hurt Charlie to hurt me?”

                “Hurt her? Oh, I really was going to kill her. I was going to take her away from you and watch you cry over her body. That’s the _only_ part of this that didn’t work out.”

                “I thought you used to care about her,” Monroe felt the bile rise to his throat and had to swallow it back down.

                “You what?”  Connor doubled over with laughter. “The only reason I ever went there in the first place was so that you wouldn’t. I saw those sad puppy dog looks you gave her when no one was looking.”

                Monroe’s jaw dropped and it took him several minutes to wrap his brain around what he’d just been told. “How could you do that? I _loved_ her.”

                “She was a distraction. You dragged me from my home with a promise of a nation. Your feelings for her would have just gotten in the way; the Mathesons would have just talked you out of it, so I fucked her so you wouldn’t.”

                Connor actually had to pause to wipe tears of mirth from his eyes. “I guess it didn’t work. As I said that night, you apparently have no problem with sloppy seconds.”

                Monroe retreated again, not stopping until his back was against the wall once more. The cold mask of indifference he’d worn when first coming into the vault had crumbled to pieces. “And the article?”

                “Read something you didn’t like?” He almost giggled in satisfaction. “I _migh_ t have made friends with that grunt from the Austin Times that came to town before you had me banished to Jasper. He got the scoop of the century weeks before the attack. Granted, that Bonnie Webster bitch is pretty much on the up and up. She’ll figure it out soon enough that he and I wrote history before it happened; eventually she’ll write a retraction and blah, blah blah. Not that it’ll matter much. By the looks of you, the damage is already done.”

                For the first time, Monroe saw the full extent of the darkness inside his son. At first, he’d thought him to be a violent and power hungry thug, sick in his inherited obsession for control. This was something else entirely. It was as if the kid was pure evil. “I’m your father. All I ever wanted was to make up for not being there; to protect you. What have I ever done to make you hate me this much?”

                “You existed. You ruined my life just by breathing. If it hadn’t been for you, I’d have never been sent to Mexico. If it wasn’t for you, my mom would still be alive.” He spat at his father’s feet in disgust. “You took everything from me, and then you had to show up in Puesta del Sol and do it all over again. I was happy; I’d have had the entire cartel under me in just a few years.”

                Monroe shook his head. His eyes stung, but for the moment, he didn’t care. “No, Connor. Nunez never would have let you take over; he’d have eventually killed you. I just wanted to get you out of there before he had the chance. I’m so sorry I ever promised this to you—it wasn’t right and I should have left well enough alone. I see that now.”

                “No, you should have bowed out and given me what you promised. At least then I could have stomached the sight of you. God, you’re so pathetic. You just wanted to protect me? I didn’t need your protection. I didn’t need you. I already had a father and you made me betray him. If I had to do it all over again, I’d have just kept whipping you until you bled to death.

                “But, seeing as how I can’t go back in time, well this was the next best thing. When Blanchard’s rivals approached me, I was only too happy to comply.”

                “What?”

                Connor grinned again. “You know _Dad,_ rumor has it that you’ve been driving yourself insane trying to figure all of this out. There _was_ a conspiracy, but not where you think. Maybe you should talk to your little buddy in Austin.”

                Monroe was unable to move. Frozen to that spot, he was mind whirled around his son’s vile words and what he was insinuating about Texas. He shut his eyes and tried to pull himself together. Out of self-preservation he conjured up the stony façade he’d worn for so many years. It was all he had left.

                Once he composed himself, his eyes popped open and he stared his son down. “Connor Bennett, you’ve been found guilty of treason and attempted murder. You will die for your crimes; the Tribunal has already decided on the sentence and I will not interfere on your behalf. You may share my blood, but you are _not_ my son—not anymore.”

                With that he turned and left the vault. He nodded to the guards that stood outside the bank with his security detail. With his men surrounding him, he walked across town, back to the compound, ignoring the occasional greeting he received from the people he ruled over. Although he had not often left the compound since setting up the capital here, most of the denizens of Nashville had always seemed happy to see him when he did. Now, they seemed scared.

                Monroe tracked down his secretary, handing him the signed warrant. “Get this to the Tribunal. I want this over with by this time tomorrow.”

                Late that night, Harris found him standing on the balcony on the second floor of the wing he once shared with Charlie. “You okay?”

                Monroe took a drink from the bottle he held loosely in his fingers. He shook his head sadly, his cheeks wet and shining in the light from the torches he insisted stay lit on the balcony now that they knew it was indeed possible to scale it. “I signed the warrant,” was all he said. “I just sentenced my own kid to death.”

                “I heard,” Harris replied, feeling bad for him. He watched as Monroe dug something out of his pocket. It was a letter from Frank Blanchard. The first one had apparently taken its time on the way from Austin. The second one had arrived shortly thereafter.  

                “Congress has voted. I’ve got until year’s end to make good on the debt we owe. If I don’t, they’ll consider it a deliberate default. It could lead to war.”

                Harris’ heart sank. “Let me send for Charlie. She’ll have almost made it home by now. You need her here. She can help you figure out a way to pay Texas; we can find a way to make this right together.”

                “It’s over, Shawn. There’s no way to do it, and even if she was willing to help still—which I doubt, I can’t face her. Not after what Connor told me today.” Monroe repeated the gist of his conversation with his son. “I played right into his hands. I let my own son destroy anything good I had left in me. He didn’t do this to take over; he just did it because he hated me. He won after all—I’m the fucking monster she used to accuse me of being and everything’s falling apart.”

                “You’re not a monster. And we can still fix this.” Harris argued.

                “No, Miles was right—I’m too far gone now. That’s why Connor got what he wanted; I made it too easy for him.” He continued to nurse his bottle and look out into the darkness over the city. “I’d like to be alone now,” he said quietly, sending his last friend away so he could grieve in peace.

                 


	15. I Wasn't Even Supposed To Be Here Today!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a transition between part 2 and part 3 of this story. For better or worse, here it is. This is the first of two chapters I’m posting back to back today…

_The Last Day of June…_

                As soon as Charlie and her family crossed the border, they were immediately taken by the Rangers. Frank Blanchard had put a warrant out for both Miles and Charlie. He wanted answers and so they were escorted to Austin.

                Blanchard’s political enemies were using the mess back east against him. After all, there was an election the following year. There were quite a few members of Congress that were unhappy with the fact that he’d regained leadership after Carver’s death. He’d ruffled just a few too many feathers in his retirement and they wanted their own man in charge after Carver’s death, only to find the cantankerous old pervert as their boss once more.

                Charlie and Miles did their best to explain Connor’s treachery. Out of respect for what she and Monroe once shared, Charlie did everything she could for him. Despite the hurt he’d caused her, she still wasn’t capable of completely turning her back on him. Bonnie Webster was brought in and it didn’t take very long for them to realize that Connor had orchestrated the article’s publication from afar.

                It took even less time for Blanchard to uncover that the ringleaders of his own political troubles had reached out to Monroe’s son in the months leading up to his escape. The treaty between Texas and the Republic had not been popular among a small and yet rather vocal faction within Congress. When their votes hadn’t been enough to prevent it from going through, they’d decided to take matters in their own hands. Discrediting Monroe had gone a long way towards their goal of discrediting Blanchard himself—although not far enough.

                Those that had been involved were eventually ousted for what was considered the post-blackout equivalent of Watergate. In the end, all they’d managed to do was increase the odds that Texas would never see a single coin or diamond from Monroe. Blanchard did what he could in light of the facts to try and stall Congress on his behalf, but they were unwilling to reconsider calling in on the Republic’s debt.

                Now that the damage had been done, the cause of the instability that threatened their eastern neighbor didn’t matter. What mattered was that the debt was large and Texas needed those funds. They were willing to settle on getting what they could in the months to come rather than ever seeing any at all if and when the Republic collapsed.

                Having done what they could for him, Miles and Charlie were released to return home. As the months passed, Charlie settled slowly back into her grandfather’s house in Willoughby once more. In the end, she’d had no choice but to accept her new life and move on. She was too stubborn and hurt to write to Monroe and he in turn never contacted her.

                Much to Rachel’s irritation, Miles and Charlie both became obsessed with following what was going on across the border. They collected newspaper articles and tried to piece it all together. On occasion, Harris was able to smuggle a letter through to Charlie, which helped to fill in the gaps.

                None of the news coming from Nashville was good. For weeks, the Militia stood at the brink of warfare in the Great Lakes Territories. It only deescalated when Monroe finally gave the rebel factions what they wanted.

                Harris had written to tell them of it. He decided to belay orders to engage that he’d just sent out, and instead pulled the militia out of Ohio, Wisconsin and Michigan completely. He disbanded the garrisons there, reassigning some to lock down the borders and discharging the rest from their duties completely.

                At first, Charlie took this as Monroe finally having cut his losses. Miles knew better. “This is more cruel than fighting them. Don’t you see what he’s doing? He’s locked the border completely and cut off all aid and trade. Fall’s on the way. The people living there will starve and since it’s common knowledge now that the militia no longer protects that region, their ripe for the picking.”

                The Rangers had been slowly taking over land in the plains. Unwilling to take on the Texas Rangers, the war clans were fleeing. If the Republic and its militia no longer protected the territories in the north, they would head there and take over.

                Harris confirmed in a second letter that this was exactly Monroe’s intention. He eventually had released Illinois from the Republic, removing the last barrier that had kept the clans from sweeping in. It was only a matter of time before the raids started.

_“When I asked him why, he told me that if they wanted their freedom so badly, they could have it. There were hundreds that fled to the borders in order to immigrate south and stay citizens of the Republic, but he’s shut it down completely._

_He told me that this was their punishment for harboring the rebels for so long. Charlie, I’ve never seen this side of him. It’s like something inside of him died after the execution, and now there’s nothing left. He’s formal to the point of madness, obsessed with protocol and so on. I never met him in Philly, but from what I’ve heard, that’s the man he’s become.”_

Harris’ words only confirmed that he wasn’t Bass any longer. He was the General of old once more.  Any chance at the redemption he’d long since sought had been destroyed and any credibility he’d held with Texas had gone right along with it.

                As the fall progressed, news reached Texas that Miles’ predictions had come true. The clans from the plains had swooped in and were attacking at will, at times wiping out entire towns. The refugee camps along the border were rumored to have grown exponentially. The only thing Monroe did to restore Charlie’s faith in him was that he ordered border garrisons to protect the camps from clan raids.

                He was still firmly against letting them inside the Republic, but they’d heard that he’d sent aid in the form of food and blankets as the weather turned and that the clans had been warned that refugees were not fair game. A few skirmishes erupted between the militia and clans because of this, and soon they were largely left alone.

                Otherwise, no other hopeful news came out of the east. By year’s end, Monroe had paid Texas back with every last diamond and gold coin he had. It hadn’t even made a dent, but the economy collapsed all the same.

                What was left of the eastern seaboard started to rebel, followed quickly by several territories in the south. He couldn’t pay the militia, and while they were not disbanded, they were derelict in their duties to the public. By February, there was talk of war in Austin to reclaim every last asset the Republic may have.

                And then, it all came to a standstill. Monroe was rumored to have vanished completely and before anyone knew what was happening, Texas suddenly became the proud owner of all lands east of the Mississippi. Monroe had eventually admitted defeat. The Republic was officially dissolved and in exchange for relief from the debt (to which Congress decided he was personally responsible) and his freedom, Monroe had given them everything.

_Nashville, The night of Monroe’s disappearance…_

As he watched his Republic slowly crumble under its own weight, Monroe slowly crumbled with it. He hadn’t been able to witness the execution the previous summer and although he was very well aware of the fact that Connor was buried next to Emma in Jasper, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to go home to lay him to rest either. That town held too many painful memories—both the good ones from before the blackout and the horrific one’s he’d created fifteen years later were too much for him.

                Had he let anyone near him, they’d have at least given him credit—he’d tried. He’d done what he could to keep both the Republic and himself together, but it had been too much. He knew now that very few if any of the people around him had been involved in Connor’s plot, but the entire affair now gave him pause when it came to trusting anyone. The only one that saw him at all was Harris, and Monroe held him at a distance now—the young man’s presence reminded him too much of better and happier days.  

                He’d been right when he’d predicted that his private life would cause problems with the Tribunal and more than once his judgment had been called into question. Had he not eventually given them more power, it would not have been an issue. Once that ship had sailed, however there’d been no going back.

                He knew the gossip that swirled around Nashville, and a lot of it was correct. He was becoming unhinged. His orders were increasingly erratic and he had no fuse to speak of. He’d tried to fight it, but after he’d lost Charlie and then Connor’s death, it had been like something inside him just snapped.

                It wasn’t the same as before. In Philly the thought of crushing his enemies had a twisted and almost pleasant effect on him—bordering on a mania that he didn’t have this time around. It was more of a desperate and pressing need to prove them all wrong.               

                He needed the Republic to stabilize because it would show all of those douchebags in Texas that he didn’t need their money and he didn’t need their approval. It would show the Tribunal that he hadn’t lost it; show Miles that he did learn from his mistakes and could change; show Charlie that he wasn’t such a monster after all.

                And so, that’s what he worked towards day in and day out until he was so exhausted he could barely function, let alone do anything productive. Harris had stayed by his side the entire time, despite threats, tantrums and orders that didn’t even make sense to the man giving them half the time. His ever fluctuating and uncontrollable emotions had replaced his brain when it came to decision making. That those emotions only seemed to bounce back and forth between utter rage and total depression did not make for wise decisions.

                As New Year’s came closer, he found himself sitting in Charlie’s quarters more often. Usually when this happened, he didn’t even remember going there. The door was kept locked, and he had the only key. Sally had only gotten in there for one thorough cleaning after he’d sent Charlie home and he’d been furious, threatening to have her discharged if she’d entered again.

                He knew that Harris had figured out this peculiar habit of going downstairs, sitting on her bed and drinking himself stupid. Sometimes he’d reread the letter she’d left him. Those last words written in sorrow and anger…

                _Bass,_

_By the time Shawn gives this to you, I’ll be well on my way to Willoughby. I don’t know what happened to you, but I can’t live like this. I know that in a lot of ways, it’s my fault. I should have told them where I was—if I had, maybe Miles could have helped stop Connor before he got that close._

_Even so, there’s nothing I could have done to deserve your accusations. I’ve made mistakes, just as you have, but I have never been anything but loyal to you. I can take a lot, but the way you treated me today is too much._

_The fact that you could even for a moment think that the parts of myself I shared with you was all an act; that it was all a ruse to destroy you, it makes me sick and hurts more than I thought possible. How can those moments hold so little value to you? I’ve had sex for a lot of different reasons, but I’ve never used it as a weapon, and it cheapens everything we’ve done when you’ve accused me of having done so._

_I’m sorry I couldn’t help you. It breaks my heart to see you this way. Right now, you are not the man I saw when I came to Nashville. You aren’t even the man that saved my life in that bar in Pottsboro. I don’t know who you are, but it is more the man that held a gun to my head in Philadelphia than the man I’ve woken up next to—and that man I hate with everything I have._

_I hope that one day you come to your senses, and for your sake I hope that it’s before you’ve lost everything. If this is the man you want to become, I won’t stay and watch it—I can’t bear to._

_Charlie_

                 Sadly, those times that he just drank and read and re-read that letter were his saner evenings. Reading how much he’d hurt her and how she’d hated what she’d seen before her helped to remind him who he wanted to be, even if he couldn’t quite get there. It was then that the old Bass was able to peek through enough to belay orders that should never have been given and keep him from falling completely into the abyss that constantly beckoned.

                After one such night he’d stumbled from the room and tracked down a courier to send word to Adams to protect the refugees on the border before the War Clans slaughtered them all. It was after another that he’d stayed the executions of several new rebel factions in the south.

                On this night, Monroe sat up against her headboard, a bottle in hand and uniform in a crumpled pile on the floor. He never wore it in her bed—it represented the things about him she hated. Just because she no longer lived in Nashville didn’t mean that it wasn’t her room, after all.

                He was already drunk and had been doing it for two days. He had no idea what was going on in the Republic around him. He’d simply grabbed several bottles of whiskey, a loaf of bread and told Harris that he needed to deal with it all—he’d had enough and was taking a few days off. He hadn’t left the room since and didn’t have any plans on doing so for the foreseeable future.

                It was only a matter of time before the Rangers showed up to take any and every asset the Republic had. They’d probably start with the trains—they were irreplaceable. In all actuality, it was possible that the seven working trains the Republic had were valued higher than the amount of the debt. Even so, he wasn’t able to part with them. Without the rails, he had no way of moving goods from one side of the Republic to the other (not that there were any goods to move now).

                After the trains, they’d probably take their own whack at Ft. Knox. Monroe actually hoped he was still around for that one. If they could actually break in, well more power to them. They could have every bar in it—they’d have earned it just by doing the impossible on that one.

                From there, who knew? Probably the coal mines and so on. They’d strip his crumbling nation of every resource it had and then would walk away, leaving both him and the people that he’d promised to help and lead empty handed and starving. A fitting end for him to be sure, but he hated that he couldn’t save his people from a punishment that belonged on his shoulders alone.

                As he took another drink, Monroe began to wonder what it’d be like to just disappear. Would anyone even notice he’d gone? And for that matter, would they even care? He was almost tempted to do just that, when his thoughts shifted to Harris. “Then he’d be stuck with this mess. Hardly fair to him, is it?” he said aloud.

                Then it hit him. What if he could disappear, but instead of just leaving the Republic and everyone within it to their own fates, what if he just replaced himself? But who could he get to do it? “They’d be better off with Blanchard than any of these idiots I’ve surrounded myself with,” he practically whined. _Blanchard…_ He started to laugh then. It had been staring him right in the face this entire time and he’d missed it. He rolled out of the bed and went to find his pants, yanking them on.

                Leaving the rest of his clothes behind, he stumbled into the stairwell. He’d dismissed his detail when he’d gone into hiding, so no one was there to watch him practically climb up the stairs on his hands and knees, so dizzy did his sudden movements make him.

                Twenty minutes later, he was sneaking out of his own compound, dressed in the one set of clothes he’d brought from Texas. They fit looser on him now—he’d lost a bit of weight with all the strain of the past months. The cold air sobered him a little as he crept in the shadows and did his best to leave undetected. _Just like old times_. He made his way to the train station and did something he’d always wanted to do (and had almost succeeded once)… Monroe kidnapped one of his own men in the rail yard and stole a train.

                _Late April…_

Charlie opened the door to reveal Shawn Harris. “Shawn! What are you doing here?” she asked, clearly excited to see him.

                She gave him a big hug and let him in. “You told me I was welcome in Willoughby, so I thought I’d pop by,” he said with a laugh as he was ushered inside. After he’d offered a stiff greeting to Rachel and Miles, Charlie went about introducing him to the rest of her family, including a member that he’d been more than shocked to meet.

                Miles and Charlie were desperate to find out what exactly had happened. They barely gave Harris a chance to sit down before they began to grill him for news. Over the next several hours they discussed the ending of the Republic and what had become of Monroe afterwards. “Texas didn’t want to go to war any more than Bass did, so they found a mutually acceptable solution. The whole thing was falling apart anyway, so Bass just let them have it.”

                “Where is he now?” Miles asked.

                Harris shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. He wasn’t even in Nashville when it all went down. One day he was gone and two weeks later, Blanchard was on our doorstep with treaty in hand.”

                “How was he? I mean, towards the end?” Charlie was terrified of the answer, but she needed to ask it all the same.

                “How do you think? Lonely, stressed out, over worked, depressed, paranoid. And those were on good days…” Harris trailed off and an uncomfortable silence permeated the room. They could figure out the rest. Monroe had been off the reservation and pretty much the entire continent was quite aware of it.

                “So what are you going to do?” Rachel asked him in her cold and stilted manner. She didn’t like the idea of Monroe’s old helper sniffing around her family, but was doing her best to be polite for Charlie’s sake. “I heard the militia is being spun off into an offshoot of the Rangers. Will you stay on?”

                “I’m working for Blanchard now. Apparently it was one of the provisions Bass insisted on. I’m pretty much doing for him what I used to do in Nashville.”

                “Security?” Rachel asked, confused. That’s the only position she’d ever seen him work in.

                “God no. I’ll never do that again as long as I live,” Harris laughed. “I’m just a common clerical lackey now.”

                “So what brings you here?” Charlie asked.

                “I was headed to Austin. I’ve been tossed back and forth between there and Nashville since this whole thing went down while the transition is made. I had a few extra days, so I figured I’d stop by. Glad I did,” he said to Charlie, meaningfully.

                Charlie and Harris talked long after everyone else had gone to bed. They’d offered to put him up for the night before he continued on his way. “You know you have to tell him right?” he said as she got up to head to bed.

                “I don’t even know where he is—neither do you,” Charlie reminded him.

                He rolled his eyes at her deliberate attempt at density. “Come on, Charlie. You know as well as I do that he’s going to pop up eventually. He deserves the truth.”

                She shook her head. “No, Shawn. It’s better this way. He was quite clear that he wants nothing to do with me, or Miles.” She retreated, no longer comfortable with the topic of conversation. As far as she was concerned, the members of her household were her business. She headed down the hallway to the room she shared with the final topic of their conversation. With a sigh, she turned to greet her new partner in crime and shut the door.

                The next morning, Charlie walked Harris to the door as he was preparing to leave. “Think about what I said, Charlie.”

                “I’ve had months to think this over. Promise me that if you ever see Bass again, that you won’t tell him.” She knew she was putting him in a bad position, but she was desperate.

                Shawn sighed sadly. “You know I can’t do that. You’re my friend, but so is he. You know how much it would hurt him.” He finished saying goodbye and left for the train station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, you’ve probably got a few guesses about the topic of Charlie and Harris’ final conversation and if I know Charloe fans, a huge chunk of you will be spot on. I tried to be vague but it was a bit hard without not mentioning it at all.


	16. One Story, May Different Angles...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second Chapter I’m posting tonight, so if you scrolled right down to this one, you missed a chapter. I decided that I didn’t want to use flashback format in this story. I’ve used it in most of mine (it’s a cheap trick to advance the story and insert dialog here and there, I’ll admit it), but since I’ve gone this far without it, I didn’t want to start.  
>  And so, this chapter has an interesting format… Other than the first section, which is told through Harris’ point of view (and this will be the last time he appears as an active character, fyi. He’s still mentioned, once or twice but that is about it, so say goodbye to our fun friend—although he’s not dead, he’s just a busy young man—he gets replaced with another minor oc in the following chapters). The rest of the chapter is basically the same event, told through the perspectives of 4 different people. For clarity’s sake, I’ve made sure to point out who’s point of view you’re seeing before it starts, since formatting on both ao3 and ffnet won’t let me use page breaks and formatting lines.   
>  On another side note, all of remaining chapters, including this one are fairly long. I decided to do it that way so I didn’t have to break it up and drag it out that much more (I have a feeling a few of you would kill me if I did…) And, there’s a lot more dialog in them than I’d intended (and more than I am usually comfortable with writing— it’s the descriptors while they’re talking that make me nervous about it. There are only so many eye rolls and sighs and staring in shock and awe you can write before you feel like a ninny). Anyway, without further ado…

                _The Middle of July…_

                Harris was walking from the capital building to his own modest apartment. He’d be leaving for Nashville in the morning, so once more he had to go pack. He was officially tired of these trips. It’d only been a few months, but they were exhausting.

                He was waiting for a wagon to pass so he could cross a street, when a voice behind him stopped him in his tracks. “Shawn?”

                Harris turned around. He’d know that voice anywhere. “What’s up Boss?” he said with a wry grin. He took in the sight of Monroe. He looked like hell—better than he had in Nashville to be sure, but like hell all the same.

                “Just seeing the sights,” Monroe replied.

                Harris laughed. “Why is it I don’t see you as being much of a touristy type?”

                A few minutes later, they found themselves in the pub down the street, sharing a glass of whiskey just like they had countless times before Monroe’s son had gotten him to ruin it all. “So what are you doing in town?” Harris asked.

                “Here for a job,” Monroe told him. He paused to signal the bartender for a refill. “Blanchard offered me work and it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.”

                “What are you doing?” Harris asked, fully expecting it to involve the Rangers in some way.

                “He offered me a spot in that new university he convinced Congress to let him open.”

                Harris almost choked on his whiskey. “You? A teacher? As in term papers and final exams and the like?”

                “That’s about it.”

                “I’d have figured something at the Ranger academy would have been more up your alley,” he confessed.

                Monroe laughed as he signaled to the bartender for another drink. “Oh he offered—twice actually. Apparently he feels a bit bad that some of his rivals led to all that mess in the first place.”

                Harris raised a brow at that little tidbit. “So why did you turn him down?”

                He took a drink and looked at his former secretary over the rim of his glass. “I’ve been fighting one thing or another for thirty years. Don’t you think it’s about time I had a career change, Shawn?”

                The younger man remained skeptical, earning him a roll of the eyes from his former employer. “So, where did you go? No one heard from you for months.”

                Monroe sat back in his chair, hesitant. “I wandered for a bit, landed back in New Vegas. I did a little boxing for a while and then Blanchard made his offer, so here I am.”

                Harris didn’t believe that was all to the story for a second. He knew Monroe well enough to know that he was leaving a lot out, but he decided to let it slide. It was clearly a topic that the man did not want to discuss, and by the looks of him he could only guess why.

                He had the looks of someone that was just getting over a rough time or long illness. He certainly looked happier than he’d been when they’d last seen each other, but he looked just shuttered enough to make Harris really wonder. He’d known him when he was okay, and he’d known him when he was quite insane. This was something different entirely, like there was a deep wound that was just beginning to heal.

                Of course, he’d tried to find Monroe when his duties allowed it after the takeover.  He’d kept an ear out and had asked around when Blanchard had sent him (rarely) to other parts of the Republic. At one point, he’d even paid someone to see if they could find news of him—not that it had been all that effective. The few leads that had come in had amounted to nothing, and he eventually accepted that Monroe simply didn’t want to be found.

                Wanting to spare Monroe some embarrassment, he changed the topic and went on to talk about what he’d been doing for Texas. As the afternoon went on, they had a few more drinks and shared a few laughs.  The longer they sat there, the more nervous Harris started to get. He knew that he had to talk to Monroe about Charlie’s change in circumstance, but he didn’t quite know how to bring it up.

                “What’s on your mind, Shawn?” Monroe had obviously picked up on his increasing unease and just blurted the question out of nowhere. “Whatever it is, just say it.”

                “Listen, there’s something I’ve got to tell you…”

                Hours later, Shawn Harris all but dragged a very inebriated Bass Monroe to what he hoped was the right house. His friend was barely functioning by the time Harris had asked him where he was staying. It had taken Monroe several tries to even tell him where he lived, as drunk as he was.

                Harris managed to get him inside without incident, the key confirming that he’d found the right place. He’d made enough noise to send the next door neighbors outside to investigate. The husband had rushed forward to help him, and within a few more minutes they dumped him unceremoniously on the couch.

                Harris stuck around long enough to get an assurance that the neighbor and his wife would keep an eye on his friend and make sure he was alright and didn’t do anything stupid. He’d found paper and a pencil in a drawer in the kitchen and took the time to jot down his apologies and then took off for home. Harris had a buzz himself, and he still had to catch a train in the morning.

_Rachel…_

                Rachel Matheson was just finishing up with the dinner dishes when she heard a tentative knock on the front door. Her father was busy checking on a patient and Miles had gone to the bar for a drink with the locals. When Charlie didn’t answer it and the knock came again, she dried her hands on a dishtowel and went to answer it.

                She opened the door to see Monroe standing there. “What are you doing here?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest in obvious disapproval.

                “I’m here to see Charlie,” he said, his voice quiet and eyes downcast.

                “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said as she took a step back and reached for the door, intent on shutting it in his face. “You need to leave.”

                He stopped the door from swinging shut with his foot. “That’s not your call to make, Rachel.”    

                “Oh, I think it is. Now get out of here before I send someone for the sheriff,” Rachel snapped.

                “Mom, stop.” Charlie’s voice could be heard from somewhere in the house. “I’ll talk to him.”

                Rachel’s mouth formed a thin line. She narrowed her eyes at him, the threat there obvious and then went back to the kitchen to finish her chore. She kept an ear open just in case Charlie needed her help, but eventually she heard her daughter’s footsteps retreating down the hall, followed by Monroe’s several moments later.

                She didn’t want to leave her daughter in the house with this mad man any longer than she had to, but she wasn’t equipped to handle things if they escalated. Tossing down the dish towel, she took off out the back door and headed down the street.

                She ran as fast as she could to the center of town and burst through the door of the bar. Miles was sitting at the bar alone, having a drink. “ _He’s_ here,” she panted as she tried to catch her breath.

                Miles turned around. “Dammit. I’ll be back,” he said to the bartender as he shot up off the stool and out the door.

                Rachel slapped a few diamonds down to pay her boyfriend’s tab and left. Instead of heading straight home, she went to the clinic, where her father would just be locking up for the evening. He’d been staying a bit later during the summer hours as the days were longer and it was just now getting dark.

                She ran into him at the door. “Dad, Monroe’s here. He’s at the house with Charlie. Grab your stuff, just in case there’s trouble,” she warned.

                _Charlie…_

She heard the knock at the front door, but her hands had been full at the time, so she left it for her mother to answer. Through the open door of her bedroom, she’d heard his voice and knew exactly who it was.

                Charlie felt the blood drain out of her face. If he was here, that meant that Harris had talked to him; it meant that he knew and was coming to confront her about it. She was so tired as it was and as she slowly walked down the hallway, Charlie felt dazed. Just as she entered the living room, she heard her mother threaten to get the sheriff.

                Taking a deep breath, Charlie intervened. “Mom, stop. I’ll talk to him.”

                She waited for Rachel to get out of the way and then opened the door. He looked a little worse for wear—he was a bit leaner than the last time she’d seen him and still wore the dust from the road. Wherever he’d been, it was obvious that he must not have been in town long before knocking on their door.

                It took Charlie a few minutes to recover from seeing Monroe again before she finally remembered to speak. “What do you want, Bass?”

_Monroe…_

                Monroe’s heart pounded in his chest as he waited for someone to answer the door. He was both dreading and hoping that Charlie would be the one to open it. He knew he was intruding and that if it was anyone else, he was more likely to have the door slammed in his face than speak to her.

                If it was Miles, well he may very well end up with a fist or the barrel of the gun in his face instead.  Of all the people that it had to be, of course, it was Rachel. He kept his eyes downcast as he spoke to her. Even with all the animosity between himself and Charlie’s mother, he was still too embarrassed to look even her in the eyes.

                Of course the woman knew damn good and well why he was here, and it was bad enough to come begging—worse still to have Rachel Matheson be the one to witness it. Finally, Charlie had shown up and now he stood and looked at her.

                She looked tired—dark circles under her eyes and her hair pulled back into a haphazard ponytail. Gone were the tight jeans and tank top she’d preferred so long ago, her old style having been replaced with one more comfortable.

                Monroe froze the moment he saw her. Tired or not, he still lost his head the second he saw her. He opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again when he realized he’d lost the ability to form words.

                “What do you want, Bass?” she asked. Charlie’s voice didn’t carry the same venom her mothers had. Instead, she sounded flat—as weary as she looked.

                “I came to see her,” he replied, barely speaking above a whisper.

                Charlie blinked, and donned the best mask of confusion that he’d ever seen. Really, if he was an outside observer, he’d probably give her a standing ovation. “See who?”

                Monroe swallowed, nervous and just a little mortified that it really came down to this—she’d rather play dumb than tell him the truth. “I ran into Shawn last week. He told me.”

                She took a tiny step back as she nodded her understanding.  It was clear that she was a little taken aback that he’d found out, as if she hadn’t expected it, or at the very least hadn’t expected it so soon. “What do you want with her?” Charlie asked. If Monroe didn’t know any better, he would have thought that she almost sounded afraid of him now—not that he didn’t deserve it.

                “I just want to meet her,” he insisted. “Please, let me see my daughter.” He held his breath and waited for her to decide. It had taken every ounce of his courage just to knock on the door, and now that he was standing there before her, he almost lost his nerve while he waited for her to think about it.

                Eventually, Charlie stepped back to let him in, her silent assent left for him to decipher. She immediately turned and walked down the hallway, disappearing from sight. Monroe hesitated, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself before following.

                He found her in the last room on the left. She was just bending over a cradle when he caught up with her. He watched in silence as she picked up the sleeping child and carried her over to where he patiently waited. She was almost to him when the baby began to stir.

                Bass looked down at his daughter. Her tiny head was covered in unruly dark curls and she looked up at him with the brightest blue eyes he’d ever seen. “Can I—can I hold her?” he asked, terrified that Charlie would deny him.

                “Okay.”

                Monroe set down his pack. As an afterthought, he unstrapped his sword and gun belt and took off his jacket, setting them down atop his worn backpack. Now ready, he held out his arms. The moment he had her, his eyes welled up and a smile broke across his face.

                When the baby fussed a little, he swayed back and forth, calming her. “How old is she?” he asked, his eyes never leaving his daughter.

                “Four months. She was born March nineteenth.” Had Monroe looked up he’d have seen the surprised look on her face at the way he handled her.

                “What’s her name?” He kept his voice low, not fully trusting that he wouldn’t crack.

                “Bethany. Her name is Bethany.”

                Monroe blinked back a few tears. “That’s a beautiful name. _She’s_ beautiful.”

                He knew he was running out of time. Charlie wouldn’t tolerate his presence here for much longer, and it was only a matter of time before Miles showed up. He was positive that he’d heard the front door open and close again just as soon as he’d stepped into the hallway. Knowing Rachel, she had probably snuck out the second he’d disappeared down the hallway in order to fetch him.

                The thought of handing her back almost broke him, but he knew it was time. He stared down at his daughter one last time, committing her features to memory and then handed her back to her mother. “Thank you,” he rasped quietly.

                Charlie sat down in the rocking chair and began to rock the baby back to sleep. She’d just been fed and changed right before Monroe had shown up and she’d just put her down for the evening. Her former lover watched them both in the dying light for several minutes. He stood there until Charlie put the baby back in her crib and then locked eyes with him. Taking the hint, he picked up his things and backed out of the room.

                “What are you going to do?” Charlie asked after she gently closed the door. She still sounded afraid of him and Monroe knew deep down that she was worried he’d try to stick around or take the baby.

                “I uh—I won’t bother you. I just wanted to see her one time.”

                “And?” she asked. She could always read him, and Monroe flushed at the fact that she’d done so now. Of course there was something else.

                He reached into his bag and dug around for a minute. He pulled out an envelope and a metal chain. “Can you give her these one day, when she’s old enough?” he asked.

                Charlie held out her hand to take his offering. The envelope wasn’t sealed—he’d left it that way, knowing she’d read it before she’d even consider keeping it, let alone giving it to her child. His having left it open was his way of telling her it was okay. He wouldn’t expect any less of her and would do the same if the situations were reversed.  

                She held up the chain he’d given her to get a better look at it. On it were two metal plates—his marine dog tags. It had been almost two decades since he’d worn them as a marine, but had kept them all these years as a keepsake. It was the only personal belonging he’d had on him in Colorado when he’d run from his own men in Colorado.

                She looked at them for a moment before flicking her questioning gaze to Monroe. “It’s all I have of who I was,” he explained sadly as he turned away and headed down the hallway. He’d never felt as humbled as he did when leaving now. He felt like he was abandoning the only blood he had and the woman he’d loved enough to create her with—and he knew he didn’t have a right to either one.

                “When did you get back?” Charlie asked from behind him as Monroe reached for the doorknob.

                “About ten minute before I knocked on the door,” Monroe told her. He dropped his hand and turned to look at her one last time.

                “You’ll be staying in town for a few days, then?”

                Monroe almost detected a hint of hope in her voice, but he knew it was too good to be true. “No. I’m leaving at first light. I have to get back to Austin; I’m starting a new job in a few weeks and I’ve got a lot to do to get ready for it.”

                “Oh.”

                _Did she just sound disappointed?_  The way she said it him pausing at the door. That one little syllable, not even a word really was enough to help him work up the courage to finish what he’d started. “Listen, I’ll stay out of your way. I know you don’t need me around—she doesn’t need me around, but I’ll send some money when I can.”

                Charlie straightened a little. “We don’t need your money,” she replied proudly.

                He held his hands up in surrender, feeling her sudden anger at the suggestion. “I know you don’t. I told you, I won’t bother you or make a claim for her, but she’s still my daughter. I’ve a right to see that she’s cared for.” He’d been able to give his son nothing but pain before his death. Monroe couldn’t bear to do the same with her. “If you ever need anything, I’ll be in Austin,” he added as he dug into his pocket and produced a scrap of paper.

                Charlie took it from him and looked down to see the address he’d written down. He could see the internal struggle and a part of him wondered if she was going to burn it the second he left. Then again, if their situations were reversed, that would probably be what he’d do. Instead of offering further argument, she stuck the paper in the front pocket of her jeans.

                Monroe turned back to the door and opened it. “I never meant to hurt you, and I’m so sorry about everything ,” he said as he stepped out onto the porch. “Thank you for letting me see her.”

                He didn’t bother to turn around, or wait to see if Charlie had a response. The sun was just done setting, but it wasn’t dark enough to hide the fact that he was losing control of his emotions and the occasional tear managed to escape and trace a path down his cheeks. He dashed them away and did the hardest thing he’d ever had to do in his life—he walked away.

                He only made it half a block before he ran into Miles. Wisely, he crossed the street, rather than meet him straight on. “What are you doing around here, Bass?” Miles called.

                “Don’t worry, I’m leaving—and I won’t be back,” Monroe replied, his voice sounding pathetic to his own ears.

                _Miles…_

As he made his way to the house he shared with Rachel, Gene, Charlie and little Bethany, Miles was torn. A part of him really wanted to see his brother and make sure he was okay; however, was more inclined to get his insane former best friend as far away from that baby as possible before he did something stupid.

                Monroe had lost two children already. The idea of having a third one out there may push him over the edge, and that thought terrified him. _Or it could be the one thing that helps him pull it together. Did any of us think of that?_

When he was just a few blocks away, Miles slowed his pace to give them a few minutes together. Even if Monroe flipped, he knew that the man would never hurt Charlie and there was no way he was getting out of town without passing him by. Surely there was no harm in giving them five minutes of privacy.

                He was almost home when he ran into Monroe on the street. In the darkness, he could see that Monroe obviously carried no baby, so that was a positive sign at least. What wasn’t so positive was the way that Monroe had crossed the street the second they’d seen one another. To Miles, that meant Monroe had done something he knew would piss him off.

                When Miles asked him why he was around, the man’s reply was so forlorn that it had him worried. _What happened in that house?_ He hurried the remaining distance and ran into Charlie in the doorway, where she stood with tears coursing down her face.

                “Charlie? Are you okay? What did he want?”

                Charlie wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “He just wanted to meet Bethany. He’s gone now. He said he wouldn’t bother us.” she said as she turned and fled to her and Bethany’s room.

                _Charlie…_               

                She laid face down on the bed and silently cried until she fell asleep.  The next morning, when she knew he was well on his way to Austin, she pulled out the letter he’d left for Bethany. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before opening it up and reading it.

                _As I write this, I’ve never met you. I don’t know when you were born, and I’ve never heard your name. I just found out about you a few days ago, and in the morning, I’ll be in Willoughby, hoping to hold you just once._

_By the time your mom gives this to you, you hopefully will have had someone good in your life that you’ve called your father—someone who will have been better at it that I could have ever been._

_I’m not a good man—I’m not even a decent one. I used to be, but that was so long ago that I barely even remember what it felt like. So much has happened between then and now._

_I just wanted you to know that the reason I wasn’t around wasn’t because I didn’t want to be. It wasn’t because I didn’t care or didn’t want to stick around. Even though I haven’t even seen you yet, I already love you so much it hurts._

_And that is why you’ve never seen me or heard my name. I don’t know when your mom will give this to you, but I know she’ll have waited until the time is right—when you’re old enough to understand that sometimes being far away is the best way to show someone you care._

_I love you and your mom both more than I can ever say, and it’s better for the both of you that I’ve stayed away—this way, I can’t hurt you. Even though it has to be that way, know that I’ll always be thinking of you and hoping you are well and happy._

_I know that your mom will raise your right and that you will have grown up smart, and beautiful and perfect, just like her. That’s how I’ll always see you in my head. Even though you didn’t know it, I was always with you—I was there when you took your first steps and said your first words. I was there when you graduated school and fell in love for the first time (I was that invisible guy threating to kick his ass if he ever hurt you)._

_I will always be with you. I love you, and I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there._

_Your Dad._

                Charlie carefully folded up the letter and placed it back in its envelope. She put the dog tags inside and carried it over to the desks in the living room. In her own bold script, she carefully wrote out her daughter’s name on the front before sealing it with wax on the other side. When the seal cooled and hardened, she put it in a box of keepsakes in the closet, resolved to keep it as long as it took for Bethany to be ready for it.


	17. Unexpected Guests On Your Doorstep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the first of 2 chapters today. I will post the next two and possibly the epilogue tomorrow. First of all, thank you all for the feedback from the last two chapters. I know they were both downers, which is why I decided to post them together, so I only had to put you through those types of feels once (albeit ALL at once).   
> I don’t know whether to hang my head in fanfic shame or be flattered by the emotional response it seemed to cause. I guess that as a writer it should be the latter and as a member of the fic community the former? I know I tend to write on the overly angsty side (and I’m mean to Bass, as many have told me), so I thank you all for bearing with me. On a side note, I’ve decided to go ahead and do this and the next chapter at the same time in order to build them up as quickly as I tore them down before.   
> (Tomorrow’s first chapter will indeed have a completely different feel and at some times may seem quite silly… and is very bromancy…)

                _November…_

                Monroe had just gotten done with his lonely supper and the subsequent clean up. Determined to get a stack of papers graded before going to bed, he headed into the little office he’d built in one of the spare rooms of his little house. He was halfway down the hall when he heard a knock at the front door.

                Figuring it was probably his neighbor, he rolled his eyes at the interruption and headed back through the living room. “Hold on a second,” he called out as he pushed a very lazy and fat old dog out of the way with his foot and opened it.

                His heart immediately leaped into his chest when he saw Charlie standing out there in the cold. He stood there stunned for a few moments, not quite believing his eyes.

                She looked up at him, a little shocked at his appearance. He looked pretty good. She knew he’d just been on the road when she’d seen him in Willoughby, but she’d still halfway expected him to appear scruffy and worn now.

                He was wearing a sweater—most likely having been made post-blackout and a pair of worn jeans, but somehow he seemed more cleaned up now than he’d been during better days in Nashville. So different was his appearance that she’d almost questioned that she’d found the right address.

                “It’s cold, aren’t you going to invite us in?” she asked when she finally remembered that neither had spoken.

                Still bewildered, Monroe nodded and then stepped aside. Carrying her daughter in an old pumpkin seat and a carpet bag in the other, Charlie came inside. She handed Monroe the bag when he silently offered and headed towards the couch while he shut the door, pausing only to nudge the dog back into place. If anything, his thick fur kept the cold from seeping in through the bottom of the door.

                She turned and watched him do this. When he looked up to see her curious gaze, he shrugged. “His name is Lump,” he commented. “You can see why.”

                At the sound of his name, the dog lifted his head about an inch off the floor and opened one eye before slumping back down and going back to sleep. Charlie giggled at the animal, the sound of it filling the room.

                She set the pumpkin seat down and shrugged out of her coat, giving it to Monroe when he held out a hand for it. She unstrapped Bethany before settling down on the couch, on the side closest to the hearth. As cold as it was outside (and it was indeed cold, especially for Texas), his house was warm and strangely inviting. While she got comfortable, Monroe went to hang the coat up on the coat rack by the front door.

                He sank into the easy chair that sat across from the couch, at a loss and almost afraid to speak, as if by doing so he would wake up and she’d disappear. He looked away, blushing when Charlie suddenly started unbuttoning her shirt, intent on feeding Bethany.

                With well-practiced movements, she quickly had his daughter put to breast, as if sitting around in his living room like this was something she did every day. In a world where bottles were rare and formula was hand made only when absolutely necessary, she didn’t have the luxury of modesty when it came to feeding her daughter. Her nonchalance over the whole business left him feeling even more flustered, if that was even possible.

                Getting over his embarrassment, Monroe just watched mother and child with his heart still pounding in his chest. “What—did something happen? Are you okay?” He finally stammered.

                “Oh, we’re fine,” she said as she sat back against the couch cushions.

                He didn’t understand. “Then why..?

                “You seem to be doing pretty well, after everything,” Charlie said, changing the subject quite prettily. The house was in a quiet, if modest part of town. She certainly hadn’t expected that. When she’d first gotten off the train, Charlie had figured he’d be living closer to the center of the capital city, in a loft or something.

                The last thing she’d thought she’d find was that he’d make his home in this small corner of suburbia, a good distance away from all the action, bars and so on. It was already getting dark by the time the wagon she’d hired to bring her let her off on the sidewalk, but from what she could see, the homes around his were well tended, even if they were a little small.

                “I get by okay,” Monroe offered.

                Charlie paused to switch sides, covering herself before positioning the baby once more. “You said you got a job?” she asked, determined to keep up the small talk.

                “Yeah, Blanchard arranged it after…” he trailed off. The last thing Monroe wanted to discuss was the collapse of his little empire and the circumstances that had lead up to it.

                Charlie took the hint and moved on. “So what are you doing now?”

                He shifted a little in his chair, feeling slightly uncomfortable. After the way things ended, she was suddenly in his living room, with her breast hanging out of her shirt. Not that he really minded, but it was getting increasingly difficult to keep his eyes directed at her face. “I work at Blanchard’s new university; teaching, actually.”

                “Really?” Somehow she’d just thought that whatever he’d be doing, it’d be something active and maybe a little dangerous—not something as sedate as teaching. “What do you teach?”

                Monroe could practically feel her disbelief. Once more, his face started getting hot. He cleared his throat before answering. “History. Mostly eighteenth and nineteenth century; you know—revolutionary era and civil war kind of stuff.”

                Charlie smiled at his answer. Miles had once told her that he’d been kind of a history geek before the blackout. Her uncle had often suspected that his love of history had been what had enabled him to adapt to a world without technology a lot easier than most. It had been like life had turned into a bizarre History Channel documentary overnight and he'd taken to it fairly quickly.

                Most people had gone crazy without the everyday gadgets that had made life so convenient before the blackout. Up until he’d lost a second family, Miles had always thought that Monroe had stayed fairly well grounded—more so that he had initially.

                Charlie shook herself back out of her thoughts and regarded him. “You like it?”

                Monroe smiled at her weakly as Charlie finished feeding Bethany and went to change her diaper.  “I do, actually.”

                In reality, he loved it. The hardest decision he had to make was when to hold a pop quiz. For the most part, the student body had accepted his presence on campus. There was an occasional punk that made a big deal out of it, but most of them treated him with the same respect they had for every other professor on campus—even if they were just a little afraid of him.

                He didn’t really socialize with his colleagues outside of work, but they didn’t press the issue of his identity and he got along with them well. He was on friendly enough terms with his neighbors that he didn’t feel so alone, and he had the dog for company—not that he did much other than sleep and eat. Even Harris visited him from time to time, so he didn’t have that same isolation he’d felt in Nashville.

                They sat in silence for several more minutes, both at a loss of where to go next. “Do you want to hold her?” she eventually asked.

                “Very much,” Monroe said as he tried his best to hold it together. The last time they’d seen each other had been hard enough. He didn’t need to turn into an emotional wreck now, at least not until he figured out what had prompted this sudden visit. He got up and crossed over to her, his legs feeling like jelly. He was nervous as he could be when Charlie scooted closer and handed Bethany to him.

                “Did uh… Did you find a place to stay while you’re in town yet?” he asked, his eyes never leaving his daughter’s sleepy face. He was still in awe of her—and he knew if he gave into the temptation of looking at her mother right now, he’d lose his fucking mind.

                “No, I came straight here from the train station,” Charlie told him. The way he was gazing down at Bethany with his heart on his sleeve melted her just a little. He’d only seen her twice, but the baby already had him wrapped around her little finger.

                “Listen, most of the inns are on the other side of town,” he said as innocently as he could muster, “and it’s getting a little late. You could stay here, if you wanted.”

                “We’d like that,” Charlie replied with a warm smile.

                Monroe let out the breath he’d been holding; actually a little surprised (and very relieved) that she hadn’t refused. She obviously wasn’t ready to tell him why she was here, and he was reluctant for her to leave. He’d take every precious moment he could get, even if it was just for one night.

                He handed Bethany back to her and stood up. “My neighbors have a handful of kids—the youngest is I guess three or so. I’m going to go see if they have anything we can borrow for a bed for her.”

                Monroe grabbed his jacket and headed outside. As soon as he closed the door, he leaned up against it for a few moments to get a hold of himself. Charlie’s abrupt appearance still had him reeling and he didn’t quite know how to handle it. Over the three months that had passed since he’d last seen her, it had taken a lot of effort to come to terms with the fact that they were so close. A mere sixty miles away was the only blood relations he had left, and he’d had no right her at all. It had been hard, but he’d miraculously forced himself to deal with it.

                He’d done his best to make good on all of his promises to Charlie. He’d stayed away and the only contact that he had at all was the money he’d sent every month like clockwork. As strong as the urge had been to send some kind of personal note with it, he’d resisted it every time.

                Monroe had worked hard to carve a comfortable niche for himself and to get on with his life. When he’d been given a housing allowance, he’d picked his little home carefully. He knew better than to immerse himself in Austin’s night life. It wasn’t good for him and he’d know where it would lead.

                After the tower, he’d lost himself in New Vegas. He’d barely been hanging on when he’d been lured away from his trailer and had inadvertently found something new to fight for. His first instinct this time around had been to do the same, and he’d gone all out when he’d gotten there.

                Between the boxing, booze, whores and roulette wheel, he’d surrounded himself in as much moral corruption as he could, desperate to just forget. When that hadn’t helped, he’d even dabbled here and there in the more unhealthy addictions that the town had to offer—and after the settlement had been rebuilt, it had gotten a lot worse than it had been before.

                Blanchard’s man had actually tracked him down in one of the most notorious whorehouses in New Vegas, high as a kite and barely able to keep his eyes open, let alone win a fight. It took several weeks and multiple job offers before Blanchard had made one that sparked his interested enough to get him to clean himself up.

                Now out of that world, he wanted to be better. He’d set out to start the Republic to prove he wasn’t the same monster he’d been in Philly. He hadn’t been able to do that, and in the end he’d been no closer getting back that piece of himself that he’d lost than ever before.

                He was past trying to prove to Miles that he’d changed. Now, he just wanted to prove it to himself. And so, when he’d finally taken Blanchard up on his pity offer, he’d moved into his quiet little neighborhood and lived a completely boring and quiet life. If he occasionally fed his darker side with a boxing match on the spicier side of town, well he made sure no one found out and tried not to get too fucked up in the process.

                He kept his yard clean made small talk with most of the neighbors, hung out more with a few of them even. On the rare occasion that he stopped for drinks at the neighborhood pub, he stopped at two (okay, sometimes three) drinks and went straight home thereafter and did his best to not be a total asshole. He’d learned to be content with his lot in life. He had a job, a roof over his head, money in his pocket and a few friends—someone like him really couldn’t hold out any hope for much more. And then tonight, Charlie had shown up. Now that she was here, he wanted more than he had a right to want-- and it hurt.

                He lost track of how long he stood there, hand covering his eyes and his breath hitching. A sound off to his right forced him back to the task at hand. He looked up to see the very neighbor he was supposed to be speaking with. He’d come outside to take the garbage out to the fire pit out back and have a smoke.

                “You alright, man?” he asked as he struck a match to light up. His wife hated the hand-rolled cigarettes he smoked and so forced him outside when he wanted one.

                “Hey Chuck,” Monroe greeted as he wiped his eyes. “Listen, I’ve got a favor to ask.”

                While Monroe was explaining the abrupt appearance of his daughter and the woman he’d made her with to his friend Chuck (who had incidentally helped him drink his way through the shock of it that first night after he’d found out), Charlie set Bethany down in the pumpkin seat and took the look around. The house was a small, little ranch but was shockingly tidy and cozy. She peeked down the hallway, curious. Grabbing a lamp off of one of the end tables in the living room, she went to do a little snooping while he was gone.

                There were three bedrooms, and a bathroom. At some point the bathroom had been converted so it could be used both for bathing and laundry. The bucket of water next to the toilet told her that he’d been lucky to get a house with a septic system. She was secretly envious—the house she shared with her family in Willoughby didn’t have one and they were still forced to use an outhouse and dump the wash water outside.

                Moving on, she found what we obviously the master bedroom. She kept an ear open for both the front door and Bethany as she poked around, curious as to who he’d become since she left Nashville. He seemed so different, and yet so much the same that it was driving her crazy.

                The furniture in the room was worn, the finish marred in a few places, but the room was clean and the sheets looked like they’d been changed recently. Of course, he’d have found a large bed to accommodate his height and the fact that he tended to flop around in his sleep. He’d even bothered to hang up a few paintings that he must have found in the market in town—none of them were very well done, but all seemed to suit him somehow.

                Unable to resist, Charlie opened his closet. In Nashville, the only clothes he’d owned were uniforms and that one set of clothes he’d worn long ago in Texas. Before he’d slid into madness again, he’d usually be found in his uniform pants with the wool shirt tossed creatively across the room. He’d always started out his day fully and formally dressed, but it never seemed to last much longer than breakfast. It had kind of been the running joke around the compound.

                As she picked through his clothes, she smiled at a memory of him balling up that damned shirt and trying to get it on top the bookshelf or inside a vase or wastepaper basket. He’d seemed to get perverse pleasure out of making them as hard to find or reach as possible. Sally had forever despaired of him ever growing up in that respect.

                In the back of the closet, hanging up neatly were those damned old jeans and the ratty shirt. The leather jacket he’d loved so much was with them, along with his sword belt. They were pushed as far back as they could go, but there they were, as if they were waiting for the day he’d need them again.

                Closing the closet, she worked further down the hallway. One of the bedrooms was completely empty, but the smallest of the three had been converted into a tiny office. There was a huge desk that took up the majority of the room. Taking a moment to poke her head into the hallway to listen, Charlie went back to her snooping.

                There was a stack of tests he’d brought home to grade as well as a much larger stack of term papers. Several red pencils sat out on the desk, obviously ready for his comments and corrections. She moved on, noticing a wrinkled page sticking out of a book. Cocking her head, she pulled it out and carefully unfolded it. She realized it was the letter she’d asked Harris to give him the day she left Nashville.  

Suddenly feeling guilty for her intrusion, Charlie put the letter back and tried to erase from her mind the fact that it looked like it had been balled up and flattened multiple times, as if he’d read it over and over again. She also pretended that she didn’t notice the places on the letter where the ink had bled, obviously having gotten wet.

                She closed up his office, just as she’d found it and went back to the living room before he came back and caught her. _You will not think about what caused the ink to bleed… Rain? You know better, Charlie._

She’d just set the lamp back where she’d found it and had plopped down on the couch when the front door opened. “Dammit, Lump. Get up,” Monroe got his foot inside and tapped the animal on his rear end. The dog raised his head and then scooted over a few inches before lying back down again.

                “Gee, thanks a lot,” He said with a sigh. “Hold on, Chuck, I’ve gotta move the damn dog.”

                Monroe squeezed through the opening and physically picked Lump up and moved him into the living room. Charlie watched in obvious amusement as the dog let out an exhausted sigh and flopped back down on his side. When she started to laugh at dog and master, Monroe only rolled his eyes and disappeared out the door again.

                When he came back a few moments later, he backed in through the door, carrying the back end of what looked like a very heavy crib. Furniture post blackout was either made very poorly out of scraps, or it was extremely heavy and made to last. This one appeared to be the latter.

                Carrying the other end was a younger man with a shaved head and of all things, a ring in his eyebrow. He grunted a greeting as he followed Monroe through the house. “Careful. If the finish gets fucked up, Jackie’ll kill me,” he warned as they turned the corner and went down the hallway.

                “No she won’t,” Monroe’s voice drifted through the house. “If you’re dead, who’ll take out the trash? She’ll just kill me instead.”

                They came back a few minutes later, having set it up for the night. “Thanks again, Chuck.”

                “No prob. So, where’s she at?” Chucked asked, looking around for the baby.

                Charlie picked Bethany up and let Monroe’s neighbor have a look. Not even bothering to ask, the young man grabbed her, obviously an old pro and comfortable with children, despite the fact that he was probably only a year or two older than her.

                “She’s a cutie. Jackie’ll go nuts over her,” he said, making a goofy face at the baby and earning a sleepy giggle. “We’ve got four—all boys,” he said turning his head to address Charlie.

                Charlie just stood there, astonished at this stranger and his overly casual manner. She was not used to strangers holding her daughter, and was a little uneasy. Monroe on the other hand, only seemed amused. “You have four kids?”

                Chuck laughed at the way she’d asked, as if she was both in awe and terrified at that revelation. “Yeah, well we got started a little early.” He handed the baby back to her and shook hands with Monroe. “I gotta get back—you know how she gets if I shirk out of bedtime duty.”

                Despite those words, he didn’t seem too worried about it as he went out the door, shutting it behind him. The second he left, the dog crawled back to his favorite spot and slumped against the door. “We put the crib in the bedroom so you could be with her. I’ll sleep on the couch,” Monroe announced.

                Charlie nodded, still a little overwhelmed by him and his overly friendly neighbor. She carried Bethany into the bedroom, smiling when she saw that Monroe had left a lamp burning for her and had turned down the covers for her (that he’d actually made his bed in the first place had been endearing).  He followed her with the carpet bag, setting it on the bed and then closing the door behind him so she could have some privacy.

                Once Bethany was down for the night, Charlie went back into the living room, only to find it empty. She found Monroe in his office. He was leaning back in the old computer chair, one ankle casually resting on his knee and a term paper in his hand. A pair of reading glasses sat on his face. She’d overlooked them when she’d been looking around. As she stopped in the doorway and watched him, Charlie couldn’t help but think that the new look the glasses created was kind of cute. _Stop it!_

                She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the way his expression changed as he read; frowning and rolling his eyes at something the student had written. He sat up straight and reached for one of those red pencils. It was then that he noticed her. He immediately pulled the glasses off, stashing them in the desk drawer, as if by doing so he could deny he’d needed them.

                “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she offered.

                Monroe forced a smile. He’d clearly thought that she’d gone to bed and had been completely unaware that she’d been spying on him—and felt a little foolish for it. “No, it’s okay.” A stilted silence stretched for a few minutes before he spoke up again. “Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t think of it earlier, but have you eaten? I know you said you came straight here.” The windup clock on his desk showed that it was now well after nine.

                “I don’t want you to go to any trouble,” Charlie insisted. She was actually a little hungry, but she was starting to feel bad about the way she’d barged into his life. The way he’d been so instantly accommodating had her feeling all the more guilty.  

                “It’s fine,” he said as he set the term paper down and led the way to the kitchen.

                A short while later, after she’d finished a plate of left overs, Charlie sat at the kitchen table while he cleaned up. She couldn’t get over how quiet and almost shy he seemed now. They were sharing a quiet drink (after she’d assured him that one wouldn’t harm Bethany) while he finished.

                He scraped what was left on her plate into the bowl that sat on the floor and let out a low whistle. The dog groaned as he came into the room and lay back down in front of the bowl to eat. “Where did you get this thing?” she laughed.

                “Lump? He showed up on campus one day and I made the mistake of feeding him. He followed me home.”

                “ _This_ dog?” she asked, incredulous. She’d so far only seen him walk a total of ten steps and she swore each had been under protest.

                Monroe leaned up against the counter as he considered his dog. “Yeah, come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve seen him walk that much since.”

                “You don’t say? So, what kind of dog is he?”

                He thought about this. “I think he’s a… Hell, I don’t know. He’s a Lump.” He grinned in spite of himself. “Anyway, he’s old and no one wanted him, so I kept him. If anything, I don’t have as much garbage to take out.”

                The dog let out a long and loud fart as he finished eating. Monroe started to apologize for his dog’s bad manners, when he realized how ridiculous it was. A laugh erupted from him as he shook his head at his poor dog. “He’s pretty disgusting, isn’t he?” Before the animal could do any further damage, he dragged him to the back yard one last time.

                When he came back, he sat down at the table with her. His expression had sobered and he finally said what he’d been thinking since the second he’d seen her. “So what’s going on Charlie? Not that I’m not happy to see you, but why are you here?”

                _Tell him! Ask him!_ Instead, Charlie chickened out. “I just wanted to get away for a day or two, so I packed some stuff up and went to the train station. I didn’t really know where else to go, and I just thought you’d like to see Bethany.”

                She could tell by the look on Monroe’s face that he didn’t quite buy it. “… And maybe I wanted to check and see how you were doing,” she added.

                Monroe sighed sadly. He’d been hoping that there was something else there, but he should have known better. He still didn’t quite believe her, but he wasn’t exactly in a position to push her either. “I’m glad you brought her,” he finally allowed.

                “But?”

                He choked up a little. “It’s really hard, staying away when I know she’s so close.” _That you’re so close,_ he silently amended. “This only makes it harder.”

                “Look, I’ve got to go back tomorrow, but maybe we can work something out so you can see her here and there,” Charlie offered.

                “Okay.” Monroe finished the last of his whiskey and set his glass on the counter. He’d surprised her for the thousandth time that evening when he’d put the bottle away after filling their glasses. She’d never seen him stop at one before, even on a good day. “It’s late and I’ve got a lecture in the morning. Good night, Charlie.”

                She watched him as he turned down the lamp in the kitchen and then headed to the living room. “Goodnight, Bass,” she whispered before downing the whiskey she’d barely touched and heading into the bedroom alone.

                The next day, Charlie was already gone by the time he got home from work. He hadn’t expected her to be there, but he was still disappointed to find the house empty. Of course, he’d been ecstatic that he’d gotten to see them both, but in some ways he’d almost rather Charlie had stayed away. How does one go about letting the same people go over and over again?        

 


	18. Tell Me What You Want Before We Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2nd chapter this morning. The last chapter was bittersweet, but ended on a hopeful note… The first half has him a bit ooc, but I’ve had his character change so much throughout this story that I hope it’s believable… I wanted to show how he’d evolved… If the last half of his time in Nashville was the extent of his tendency to lose his mind, I hope that this reflects the person he can be if he has something stable to cling to.

                _January…_

                Monroe had been waiting outside of the classroom for several minutes while thirty eager men and women found their way inside. It was the first day of his second semester teaching at Frank S. Blanchard University (Monroe still rolled his eyes every time someone said the name aloud), the first fully functional post-blackout university in North America.

                He’d been blindsided just two weeks before the semester was due to start when the dean had asked him to teach this particular class. He’d been reluctant, but they’d suckered him into it. Congress was in charge of the graduation requirements because the Texan government sponsored the school, and they’d decided that the subject matter was necessary. In all reality (as much as he hated to admit it), Monroe knew they were probably right.

                This would be nothing like teaching pre-blackout American history. It was one thing to lecture about something that a bunch of dead guys did a few hundred years ago. It was something else entirely to lecture about history that he helped to make.               Eventually, the subject matter they discussed in this class was going to get very personal for him.

                He took a deep breath and entered the classroom. Normally, he quite pointedly shut the door behind him, usually to the point of letting it slam shut to get everyone’s attention. As an afterthought, he left it open. Somehow, with the sensitivity of the things they’d be discussing, it seemed safer this way.

                One of the young men in the class had his feet up on his desk. Without bothering to make eye contact, Monroe swept them off as he walked by, almost knocking the kid on his ass. When his back was turned to the class, he allowed a small smirk to escape. _That felt good_.

                He set down his bag on the desk and headed over to the blackboard. Picking up a lump of chalk, he began to write on the slate.

_The History of the Blackout-- 2012 through the Militia Wars_

_Prof. S. Monroe_

                Monroe turned around and waited for them to stop talking. Doing a quick headcount, he realized that he had a few more students than were actually assigned to the class. The dean’s prediction had come true; interest in the class had exploded when the change in instructors was leaked. Because the school was so new, most students had probably decided to put the new requirement off until they absolutely had to—none of them would be graduating for a few years at any rate.

                Deciding to weed out the stowaways later, he got started. “Before I begin, let’s get a few things out of the way. Yes, I’m _that_ Sebastian Monroe. As you can see, no, I neither have horns, nor carry a pitch fork. Yes, I’m younger than you thought I was—but I’m a lot older than I look. And finally, no, I will not bring in any weapons for a demonstration of how utterly awesome I am or tell you anything about my personal life, so don’t bother asking.

                As he spoke, he grabbed a yardstick off the desk, carefully concealing it behind his back. “I only have a few rules. You’re all adults, so I’ll treat you like it. If you’re acting like a dick, I’m going to treat you like one—and I’ll probably call you one too.  I won’t watch my mouth, but you’d better watch yours. If you cheat, you fail. If you don’t do the work, you fail. If you don’t show up, you fail.”

                Monroe took note of the few students that weren’t paying attention as he spoke. Eyes landing on a target, he approached the young man’s desk slowly. He was only going to do this once, and he couldn’t have found a better stooge for it.

                Before his students had a second to realize what he was doing, Monroe brandished the yardstick just as he would any sword, before slapping it down on the desk in front of him. Bringing it up, the yardstick had a piece of paper stuck on the end. “… and if you draw cute little doodles showing someone burning my image in effigy or being hanged from a tree or whatever, they’d at least better make me laugh—or be well drawn.”

                He pulled the picture off the end of the yardstick and held it up for the classroom. “See? That doesn’t even look like me.”

                He shook his head at the boy who was now sitting wide eyed and had visibly paled. Monroe snatched the pencil out of the kid’s hand and bent over the desk, making a few lines here and there. Finished, he held it up again. It was a very crude, but recognizable caricature of the student, with donkey ears added for good measure—the implication quite clear. “It does look a little like you though, doesn’t it?”

                The rest of the students laughed, and eventually the class’ budding Picasso gave in and joined them. Monroe balled it up and tossed the paper over his head as he walked back to his early position at the front of the class. “It pays to care about your work,” he added right as the wad of paper hit the kid in the forehead.

                Monroe sat down on the corner of the desk and waited for them to simmer down. “The subject matter of this class is sensitive. Some of it will be hard to hear—most of it will be hard to talk about. If you can’t handle that, or you can’t be an adult about it, there’s the door. Any questions?”

                “Why do we have to take this class?” One girl asked.

                Monroe locked eyes with her. “Because if you don’t learn about the past you _will_ repeat it—and because Congress says you have to.”

                “When the power went out, the whole world went crazy. People did things they _never_ thought themselves capable of just to survive. The ones that didn’t died. If it happened once, it can happen again. It almost did when a bunch of assholes in khaki crossed the gulf and tried to take over. And _that_ is why this class is required.”

                “Why are you teaching this class?” a boy in the back asked.

                “Because I was asked too—because I was there. And, considering no one had signed up for this class before they changed instructors, it’s obvious that the dean knew how morbidly curious you all are.”

                Monroe began his lecture then. He didn’t notice that there was one set of eyes glued on him that definitely shouldn’t have been there. He kept the class casual, using his desk as a chair and pausing every now and then to answer a question that some student had blurted out.

                By the end of the allotted hour, he’d finished explaining the effects that the loss of power had in those first few weeks. He’d managed to keep his own history out of it so far, but he knew that there were only so many lectures where he’d have that luxury.

                He’d spent most of the time talking about food shortages and the massive loss of life that had occurred. It was dark stuff to be sure, but if they were to ever understand how the militias had formed, he knew they’d need to understand how desperate people had been. Most of the students in his class were very young when the power went out—a few of them may even have been born shortly thereafter. They wouldn’t remember, even though their parents would. Either way, most of them were from Texas. Things had been a hell of a lot different back east.

                “Since this class was added last minute and there are no published records on it, there’s no text book. Your parents can thank me for saving you the money in the form of cakes and bottles of whiskey. There will be a few guest instructors throughout the semester, but that’ll come later. In the meantime, your homework…”

                Monroe waited for the groaning to subside. “Between now and Wednesday, your job is to write in a thousand words or less everything you _think_ you know about the militias. Keep it brief and keep it professional. You’re dismissed.”

                While his room emptied, Monroe went to pack up his things. When he turned to leave he did a double take. Standing there in his classroom was Charlie.

                “Hello,” she said quietly. “Nice lecture, by the way.”

                “What are you doing here?” he asked, not bothering to hide his surprise. “Where’s Bethany?” He’d been a little hurt that she hadn’t tried to contact him since she’d shown up in November. Christmas had come and gone with no word. He’d sent his daughter a small teddy bear he’d found at the general store, but hadn’t even been sure if Charlie had received it.

                “It’s good to see you too,” she said with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “She’s with Priscilla and Aaron at the inn. I can bring her by for a little bit this evening, if you’d like.”

                Monroe nodded, feeling like an idiot. “Yeah, I’d like that.” As happy as he was over the prospect of getting to see his daughter (and her mother), he was a little disappointed that she wasn’t in town alone. “So what brings Staypuffed and Mrs. Staypuffed to Austin?” he asked as he gestured for her to leave the room before him.

                “Aaron was offered a job at the school. Someone let it slip to Blanchard that he was, well a genius. He wanted to check things out before he committed to it,” Charlie explained as she walked down the hallway with him to his office. He didn’t have another class for another hour, so he’d been headed there to eat his lunch.

                The last thing he wanted was to have Aaron as a colleague. It wasn’t that he had anything against the man, but it was just another reminder of the past. “How long are you planning to stay?” he asked.

                “Just until tomorrow—we’re taking the morning train back. We got in late last night.”

                Monroe tried to hide his disappointment. Still, she hadn’t had to come at all. She also hadn’t had to offer him a visit with Bethany, so he’d make the best of it. This would make three visits, when he’d only ever planned on the one. He knew he didn’t have any right to complain.

                The rest of the day it was all he could do to keep his mind on his lectures and the day seemed to crawl by. By the time she showed up later that evening, his nerves were well frayed. He’d almost given up on her coming at all by the time she knocked on his door. It was well after dinner and he’d just settled down with the issue of the Austin Times. 

                After shoving Lump out of the way, he wordlessly let her inside. Following them into the living room he waited for her to turn around. Charlie handed the baby off to her father so she could get her jacket off. “She’s gotten so big,” he commented as he sat down with her.

                Bethany watched him warily for a few minutes and then smiled at him. She was able to sit up now with support and she immediately went after the glasses he’d stashed in his front pocket when Charlie had knocked. He tried to keep them away from her, and finally succeeded when she decided that pulling on his hair and beard was a much more worthy past time.

                Charlie watched them interact for quite a while.  Knowing him as she did, she knew the smile on his face was a disguise for the turmoil within. She’d be lying if she’d said she was unaffected. She knew he wouldn’t believe it, but the entire mess was hard on her too.

                Up past her bedtime, Bethany eventually fell asleep in his arms and Monroe knew that his time with her was coming to an end. “Thank you for this,” he said. “I missed her.”

                Charlie found herself tongue tied once more. She’d come to town with the Pittmans with every intention of talking to him about Nashville and everything that had happened since, but now that she was actually in his home, she once more was losing her nerve. There was so much they needed to talk about, but had no idea where to begin.

                “I missed you too,” he added when she didn’t say anything.  “Last time you were here, you acted like you had something you wanted to say, but then you didn’t say anything—not really. What’s going on, Charlie?”

                Charlie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. _It’s now or never. Grow a couple already!_ She opened them again to see the concerned look on his face. “Did you mean what you wrote—in the letter you left for Bethany?”

                “Every word.” He did lose it now. “I love you both so much and I hate not getting to see you. I know I fucked thing up between us, but you have to believe me, Charlie. I never wanted to hurt you—I hate that I did, and I hate what being there brought out in me.”

                His answer gave her a lot to think about. She needed to process it before going any further. “I know it’s last minute, but would it be okay if we stayed here tonight? It’s getting late and it’s a long walk back to the inn.” She’d never had any intention of going back and had even gone as far to tell Aaron and Priscilla that she wouldn’t be returning until morning, but decided that Monroe most definitely didn’t need to know that.

                “Uh, yeah.” Monroe blinked back his tears and got up and handed Bethany to her.

                Instead of preparing to go ask his neighbors to use their crib again, he headed straight for the hall closet. “Jackie found this in her basement a few weeks ago,” he said as he pulled what looked like a boxed up tent out. “They used to call them pack-and-plays. She let me have it in case you ever came back,” he explained as he unfolded it. After spending a few minutes trying to remember how to set it up (and cursing when he pinched a finger while going about it), Monroe finally got it set up.

                Charlie watched with interest. She’d seen them a few times as a child, but hadn’t really paid attention. By the time a portable crib was something she’d care about, they were no longer common place. In the early years after the blackout, they tended to get traded frequently and moved around a lot. Like tents, such constant use meant there were few in decent enough condition to be considered safe.

                He rolled it into the bedroom for her and left her to tend to the baby. He was fortunate enough to not have classes on Tuesdays this semester. It was only the first day, so he didn’t have anything to grade, but he still needed to work on his lectures for Wednesday. More than anything, he also needed to put some distance between them after their brief but emotional talk.

                Charlie had long since retired for the night by the time Monroe emerged from his office. He reluctantly admitted to himself that he’d taken the chicken way out by holing up in his office for the rest of the evening. On one hand, her asking to stay gave him reason to hope. On the other hand, the way she’d changed the subject after he’d answered her question made him wonder if there had been something wrong with his answer. He’d been honest, but maybe it had been too honest.

                He now sat on the couch, in his t-shirt and boxers with a drink in his hands. He was tired, but his mind was still too busy for him to sleep, so instead he watched the flames dance in the hearth and tried very hard to get the woman in the next room out of his mind.  He took another sip from his glass, savoring the burn of it.

                It was then that the woman in question appeared from the hallway. Without a word, Charlie came in and sat down next to him on the couch. Monroe sat up and turned to face her. “You okay?” he asked when she didn’t say anything after several minutes. She just kept looking at him with a look of intense curiosity on her face.

                Instead of answering, Charlie abruptly leaned over and pressed her mouth to his. Monroe almost let the glass slip from his hand, so surprised was he by her actions. With her warm lips still firmly pressed against his, he reached over to set his drink on the end table and then wrapped his arm around her, kissing her back.

                Charlie slid closer, opening her mouth for his probing tongue. With a groan, Monroe pulled her into his lap. His mind briefly flashed to the first time they’d ever kissed. How ironic that it should be in similar circumstances that she should do it again. The history of Bass and Charlie as he knew it always seemed to follow a pattern of him waiting in uncertainty for Charlie to make a move.

                It was the memory of that night that had him gently pushing Charlie off his lap and jumping off the couch as if it was on fire. He ignored the bewildered look on her face as he grabbed his discarded glass and fled towards the kitchen, not bothering to explain. In that moment, he found that he needed another drink—a very stiff one.

                She eventually followed him, finding Monroe standing at the counter. His hands were shaking as he poured a very liberal shot into the glass, hesitating before adding another splash for good measure.

                “I’m sorry,” she stammered, feeling quite embarrassed and a little hurt that he’d suddenly lost interest.

                Monroe took a drink before responding, praying the liquid courage would get him through this encounter. “I can’t do this Charlie.”

                “I—I’m so sorry,” she repeated. She looked so forlorn and it drove him mad. “I thought—I didn’t know you wouldn’t want to. I guess you’ve moved on.”

                He downed the drink and immediately poured another. Her hurt wasn’t making it any easier. “I don’t think I’ll ever move on,” he quietly confessed. “It took me weeks to find my balance after seeing you the last time, and I finally _just_ got it through my head that you weren’t going to come back.”

                Charlie sank down at the kitchen table, her knees feeling weak. She’d spent a good two hours mulling over what he’d said in her mind. It had taken a lot of courage to and self-encouragement to make a move and now that he’d stopped her, she was feeling so stupid for it. “I told you we’d work something out.” She started to get defensive, not knowing what else to do.

                “It’s been over two months, Charlie,” he reminded her. “I know I don’t have the right to ask for something more, but I can’t take you just appearing at random like this. It hurts too much.”

                “I didn’t mean to make things harder on you. We’ll go,” she said, sniffing back her tears and rising slowly from the chair.

                She didn’t make it two steps before she felt his hands land gently on her shoulders. “I don’t want you to leave, but I can’t be with you like this and then pretend later that it didn’t happen.”

                “I know,” she whispered. “I wouldn’t—”

                Monroe let out a shuddering breath. “If there’s no hope, don’t lead me on, Charlie. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life patching myself up every time you show up and then disappear again.”

                “That’s not what I’m trying to do,” she insisted. As Charlie spoke, she unconsciously leaned into him.

                The contact disintegrated whatever resolve Monroe had. _You’re such an idiot,_ he thought. Monroe he pulled her hair aside and nuzzled the side of her neck, placing a soft kiss there, just where it met her shoulder. She tilted her head, giving him more room, her quick gasp encouraging him.

                She turned in his arms and looked up at him. Their eyes locked for what seemed like an eternity and before he knew it, Monroe had given incompletely. With a groan of frustration, he captured her mouth as he tightened arms around her, crushing Charlie to him.

                Their tongues met and any hope of stopping what was happening disappeared. Charlie’s hands trailed down his sides until she felt the bottom of his t shirt with her fingertips. She pulled up, forcing them apart long enough to yank it over his head.

                He kissed and nipped his way across her jaw and down her neck as he pulled up her tank top to reveal her breasts. He tested the weight of one with his hand, while the other cupped her bottom, pushing her towards his throbbing length as he got harder.

                Charlie practically purred in satisfaction as he teased her with his fingers as he backed her into the kitchen table. Releasing her, Monroe grabbed her by the waist and lifted her up on it, the height now lining them up perfectly. Impatient, Charlie removed her tank top herself and then held her arms open for him to come to her.

                Her legs wrapped around his waist as he kissed her again. Charlie immediately reached inside his boxers, finding what she was looking for and taking him in hand. He let out a groan as she began to stroke him, her palm caressing his tip each time he thrust himself back into her hand.

                Knowing that things would be over for him if she kept it up, Monroe grabbed her by the wrist and plucked her hand away. “Hold on a second,” he murmured into her mouth. “Slow down.”

                When Charlie went for him again, he took a step back. “We’re not going to bang one out on my kitchen table—tonight,” he added, not wanting to send that idea permanently out of her head by any means.

                He took in the sight of her, breasts moving as she drew in an unsteady breath, her eyes glassy with want and her lips swollen. Monroe picked her up and carried Charlie into the living room, laying her gently on the couch.

                He grabbed the coffee table and gave it a good, hard shove to get it out of the way. The sound of it sent Lump flying from his usual spot by the door and lumbering into the other room. They both paused to make sure that it hadn’t woken Bethany up.

                When the house remained quiet, Monroe grabbed the blanket and pillow off the couch and tossed them on the rug in front of the fireplace. Taking the hint, Charlie got up and joined him there, kneeling with him in front of the fire.

                Monroe slid his hand behind her neck, drawing her closer so he could probe her mouth once more. With her arms wrapped around his neck, he grabbed the pillow with his free hand and shoved it behind her. He bent forward and Charlie went with him, lying back on the rug and allowing him to settle over her.

                Before taking things further, he pulled back to see her. The light from the fire made her hair look like spun gold and the shadows that danced around the room gave everything a surreal and dreamlike appearance. It softened her features, and he swore he could see the emotion shining in her eyes as she stared up at hm.

                He slid down, his mouth leaving a hot trail down to her breasts. He lapped at them greedily, reveling in the changes that motherhood had wrought on her body—her breasts were fuller, hips wider and curves were softer. Whereas before she had the lithe body of youth, she was now like a woman in full bloom and it drove his lust in a way that he’d never experienced before. Considering how much he’d wanted her back then, he knew he was utterly screwed when it came to resisting anything she wanted now.

                Charlie’s quick gasps and moans became more desperate. “Please,” she begged as his fingers found the waistband of the sweatpants she’d worn for pajamas. Not being one to disappoint, he swiftly yanked them down, along with her panties before rushing to strip off his boxers.

                Charlie eagerly spread her thighs wider so he could settle between them. Mouths meeting again, he slid home, moaning as her wet heat enveloped him. Charlie wrapped her legs and arms around him and they began to move together.

                Monroe pulled back and sank back in again. He’d initially intended to set a slow pace, but it had been too long and she was clenched around him too perfectly. “You feel so good,” he panted as he filled her. Both gasping for air, they built up higher with every swift thrust.

                They rolled then and Charlie rested astride him. Instead of lifting up, she began to slide up and down Monroe’s body, chest to chest with her knees drawn up by his hips. They were slick with sweat, hearts racing as they tried to hold out.

                Charlie bit her lip to keep herself from calling out too loudly as she worked her way up. She buried her face in his neck as she sped up, grinding down on him each time he reentered her. Monroe’s hands cupped her bottom as he helped her move. When she couldn’t take it any longer, she began to quiver around him.

                She bore down and froze as her orgasm took her over. Close now and sure he wasn’t going to last much longer, Monroe grabbed her by the hips and began to lift her up and slam her back down again, lifting his hips and thrusting upwards each time she came back down again. Just before he went too far over, he pulled her off of him. He barely made it, soaking the dark curls between her legs with the evidence of his own climax.

                As Charlie tried to catch her breath, panting while she lay on his chest, she tried not to think about the way he’d pulled out and how it was an unspoken message that he didn’t trust her to stay with him. His refusal to be cautious before was how they’d ended up with Bethany, and she knew he’d not risk giving her a sibling if there was no hope to raise it.

                They stayed that way for quite some time, her straddling his hips, chests pressed together and hearts racing. Eventually, Charlie propped herself up and looked at him. His body had returned to normal and his breathing had evened out. He looked almost boyish as he lay there, eyes closed and his expression so peaceful.

                “Bass?”

                “Hmm?”

                Charlie grinned at the way he barely grunted his response. “You awake?”

                In reality, he was barely conscious and was happy enough to lay there for the rest of the night. “Mmmhmm.”

                When he still barely acknowledged her, she rolled her eyes and slapped him in the shoulder. “You sure?”

                “Nun-uh.”

                Charlie rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “Bass?” she began again, this time a bit louder.

                “Hmm?” This time, he reacted by opening his eyes just enough to tell her that he had roused.

                _Oh for heaven’s sake!_ “Let’s go to bed.”

                Charlie didn’t have to ask him twice. Monroe lifted her off of him and slowly got to his feet. Grabbing her hand, he pulled Charlie up and led her into the bedroom. Bethany was still fast asleep in the portable crib. After checking on her, Charlie climbed into bed and waited for Monroe to join her. He’d crossed the room to check the potbellied stove, shoving a few small logs into it to keep the fire within going.

                As soon as he slid under the covers next to her, Monroe hovered over Charlie, stroking her leg. She bent her knee up to give him room to settle between her legs. Slowly and silently they worked each other back up, hands and mouths exploring and relearning one another.

                Being together had been so different for the both of them. It had been familiar, but at the same time like it had been the first time. Her body had changed so much and they were both different people than they’d been the previous spring. In that sense, it really had been their first time.

                When Charlie accepted him inside her now, they went slowly. Monroe wanted to take his time and savor every moment of it. Each thrust was drawn out and gentle as he relearned what she liked and even what _he_ liked. When they eventually peaked, he went right with her, still buried deep and unable to stop himself this time around.   

                As he slowly drifted off with Charlie firmly tucked against his side, it occurred to Monroe that if this was something that he could actually hold on to, he’d have the perfect life. He had his house, a good job and the woman he loved asleep in his arms. He still had his health (for the most part) and their child slept peacefully nearby. This was a life that he could be content with—if he could find a way to keep it…

                Sometime before dawn, Bethany woke them both up to be fed. He tried his best to stay awake with them, wanting to watch Charlie feed the daughter they’d made together, but he was too content and drifted back off before she’d finished. When he next opened his eyes, it was much later than he usually woke up and they were already gone.

                Over the course of the next week, Monroe fought the urge to go after Charlie. A small part of him was angry that she’d shown up, dangled Bethany in front of him like a carrot and then jumped right into bed with him, only to disappear again. He knew they were taking the train home to Willoughby in the morning, but he felt she should have a least woken him up to say goodbye (and maybe to explain what that night had meant, if it changed things). She could have left him a note, something.

                Oh, he’d wanted to jump on the next train west and demand an answer, but he also knew that if he chased Charlie down, he’d likely only scare her off and push her away again. For that matter, he had a job that required him actually being there. Even if he never saw Charlie again, he still felt responsible for Bethany’s financial support. He couldn’t do that if he lost his job because he was too busy chasing down her mother.

                Chuck and Jackie convinced him to give her some time to figure out what she wanted before trying to force her to talk about it. That she’d come back at all only proved that there was something there and pushing her may very well tear it to shreds before it had a chance to grow.

                And so, bowing to the wisdom of the happy couple next door, Monroe stayed in Austin, went to work every day and tried not to obsess about the family that was living just sixty miles to the west, always so close, but just out of reach.

 


	19. There's One In Every Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay folks, I know that I promised you two chapters and an epilogue, but I was re-reading the next chapter and decided that I didn’t like the flow and needed to make some changes. I’m not quite done with it (having problems getting the dialog just right), so I’m going to go ahead and publish this one now, and will follow up with the rest today or tomorrow. But, I thought that you’d all appreciate something a little more light-hearted…

                 _February… Sunday…_

After spending the bulk of the afternoon helping Chuck repair the back fence that separated his neighbors’ yard from the one behind them, Monroe had been exhausted. That he also woke up with one of the worst hangovers he’d had in a while had made it all the worse. That he and Chuck had been the ones to break the fence in the first place while acting like drunken idiots the night before had just been the icing on the cake.

                It had been three weeks since Charlie had shown up and then left again. Noticing that Monroe had been left feeling slightly depressed over the mess that is love life had become (if it could really even be called that), Chuck had dragged him over to dinner and some drinks. A few drinks had turned into a lot of drinks, and the next thing they knew they’d been goofing off and sparring. Shortly thereafter, Chuck had sent him flying into the fence and the rest was history.

                Monday would bring an early faculty meeting and a full day of classes, so Monroe decided to go to bed early He had to be on campus by seven and it was a good hour walk to the university as it was. And so, after eating dinner and dragging the dog outside for a few minutes, he’d crawled into bed by nine and had been asleep in minutes.

                Monroe woke up from a dead sleep by a sound of someone coughing loudly on the other side of the room. He bolted upright in bed, instantly alert. Lighting the lamp on the bedside table, he scowled in annoyance when he saw Miles casually leaning up against the wall.

                “What the fuck?” he whined as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “Stop doing that!”

                “Hey, at least I used the front door this time,” Miles said, holding is hands out to show that he was unarmed. “I can’t believe I got this close without waking you up. I even tripped over that snoring carpet that you left by the front door. I’ve been standing here coughing for like ten minutes.”

                If he wasn’t so annoyed, Monroe would have laughed at the image that flashed in his mind of Miles tripping over Lump. He yawned and stretched and contemplated whether to get up or just ignore his intruder. Maybe if he rolled back over and went to sleep, it would prove to be a bad dream and Miles would go away.

                Miles watched him, and he swore he could almost hear Monroe’s thought process. Even with all of the things that had happened, he could still read the man’s mind. The last time they’d found themselves in this predicament, Monroe had at least been smart enough to reach for a weapon. This time he just flopped back on the pillow and stared daggers at him. “Don’t you still sleep with a gun?” he asked, curious.

                With a sigh, Monroe rolled out of bed. “Not usually, no.” He caught the astounded look Miles sent his way. “We’re on a fucking cul-de-sac and I don’t own anything worth stealing? Why would I?”

                Miles only chucked at him. “Got anything good to drink?” he asked as he followed Monroe out of the bedroom.

                “Why are you here?” Monroe asked tiredly as he led the way into the kitchen, biting back a laugh when Miles tripped over Lump in the dark. At some point, the dog had crawled into the hallway, his own special and lazy way of checking on his master in the middle of a break-in.

                He lit a few lamps in the kitchen and went to the pantry to grab a half empty bottle of whiskey while his late night visitor took a seat at the kitchen table. Miles frowned at it, instantly convinced that it wasn’t enough. Monroe ignored the clear message and poured miles a drink. Brain still not working, he just took a pull out of the bottle.

                “I just thought I’d pop by,” Miles said with a sardonic grin as he raised the glass to his lips. He downed it and waited for Monroe to give him a refill.

                “In the middle of the night? In my bedroom?”

                “Why not?” Miles replied innocently.

                “Because it’s in the middle of the night, asshole.” Monroe protested. At the moment, he would have almost preferred it if Miles had come to kill him instead. It would have been less confusing and annoying than this odd pestering he was being subjected to now.

                “It’s not _that_ late. It’s barely midnight,” he said as he pulled out a pocket watch and held it up for Monroe to see. “And since when were you Mr. Early to Bed, Early to Rise?”

                _Unbelievable._ “You know what? I’m going back to bed.” With that he turned to leave Miles alone in his kitchen, hoping the man hadn’t forgotten the way out and would use it by morning.

                “If you’re going to be such a Debbie Downer, mind leaving the whiskey?” Miles called after him. The laughter in his voice betrayed how much he was enjoying himself here.

                Monroe was so tired, he hadn’t even been aware that he was still holding the bottle. He turned back and set it down on the table. Without another word, he started to leave again. Thinking better of it, he sucker punched Miles, sending him flying off out of the chair and onto the floor. “Don’t break in people’s houses. It’s rude.”

                Smiling to himself and feeling decidedly better for having gotten that out of his system, Monroe sauntered down the hallway and back to bed. He still had to get up early. He flopped back into bed and pulled the covers over his head to block out the sounds of Miles dickering around in his kitchen.

                Any hopes that he may have had that his unexpected (and unwanted) guest would be gone in the morning were dashed away when he stumbled from his bedroom five hours later. “Aw, come on. What are you still doing here?” he whined when he went into the kitchen and found Miles standing in front of _his_ stove, with _his_ frying pan and cooking _his_ bacon.

                “Good morning to you too, sunshine!” Miles practically sang as he flipped the sizzling strips over.

                Monroe practically pushed him out of the way to grab the coffee pot, intent on filling it from the pump on his sink. The only positive thing about the morning was that Miles had already made coffee—granted there was only a half a cup left, but it would at least give him a jump start while he waited for the water to boil.

                “I repeat—why are you still here?” he growled in frustration as he slammed the now full coffee pot down on the stove next to the frying pan.

                Miles shrugged. “I already told you: I just decided to pop by.”

                “You just what, rode sixty miles just to say ‘Hi?’” he was searching for the coffee tin. Miles having moved it, it was no longer in its usual spot in the cabinet. Finding the tin on the counter, Monroe opened it up, only to find it empty. Miles had used the last of his coffee and then drank it. He tossed it down at the sink, now getting pissed.

                _Fuck this,_ Monroe pouted in his head. He stomped to the other side of the house to get ready for work. If he was lucky he _might_ have time to snag something from the cafeteria between the faculty meeting and his first class. A short time later, he emerged and decided to just leave. Unfortunately, Miles beat him to the door. He was standing there smiling as if this was an everyday thing.

                Monroe glared at him as he brushed past to leave. He didn’t know what Miles’ game was, but he was tired of it either way. He just wanted to get to work and very far away from him. He went out the door, closing it behind him, refusing to acknowledge that Miles had followed him outside.

                He waived at Chuck as he headed down the street. “Hey man, where’d you get the new shadow?” his friend asked with a laugh.

                Monroe turned to see that Miles was indeed standing not more than five feet behind him. “Go away!” he barked as he sped up.

                Miles caught up with him and slapped something in his seething friend’s hand. Monroe looked down at the bread cloth he now held. He opened it up and turned in confused irritation to look at Miles. “You made me a bacon sandwich?”

                “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” he quipped as he pulled another sandwich out of his pocket for himself.

                Monroe stopped walking and turned around. “What are you doing?”

                “I thought I’d tag along for the day,” Miles said as he patted him on the shoulder in the most annoying way he could. “Now eat your sandwich, you ungrateful fuck.”

                Still at a complete loss and feeling like he’d woken up in Bizzaro World, Monroe took a bite and started walking again. “Needs mayo,” he grumbled.

                By the time they reached the campus, Monroe was ready to either rip his own hair out or shoot Miles. By the time he got to his office, he was ready to shoot himself. Thankfully, Miles hadn’t tried to follow him into his meeting, electing instead to wait in Monroe’s office.

                “Why are you bothering me?” Monroe whined again when he saw Miles spinning idly in his chair when he went back to grab his things for his first class after the meeting.

                “I just want to hang out with you,” Miles insisted.

                He grabbed the stack of graded papers he needed off the desk. “Since when do you and I just hang out?”

                “Since we were like five,” Miles answered as he stood up to follow him.

                Monroe shook his head. “You’ve lost your fucking mind. That’s the only explanation. Does Rachel know you’ve gone bat shit crazy?”

                Miles almost doubled over with laughter. This was too easy and was the most entertainment he’d had in a long time. “Like you’re one to talk,” he said in between what Monroe could only describe as giggles.

                “Are you high?” he cocked his head at the lunatic that stood before him.

                “Only on life, buddy.”

                Miles followed Monroe to each of his classes, sitting in the back and pestering him with dumb questions. He did everything he could to disrupt his lectures and grate on him as only a brother could. By the time they got to his Blackout and Militia History class, his head was pounding and he was at his wit’s end.

                He passed back their quizzes from Friday and braced himself for another barrage of Miles’ increasingly annoying antics. It was then that he had a wonderfully evil thought that was worthy of anyone named the Scourge of Scranton.”

                “Okay everyone, listen up. I told you at the start of the semester that there’d be a few guest lecturers here and there. I will not be doing today’s lecture.” He pointed to where Miles was slouched in the back of the room. “Today, your instructor will be none other than General Miles Matheson himself.”

                The sudden panic in Miles’ eyes made his sudden victory that much sweeter. Before the man could even get out of the chair, let alone protest, Monroe bolted out of the room, shutting the door behind him. For good measure, he pulled a very large bench from the hallway over to block the door and sat down on it to increase the weight. There’d be no escaping the room now.

                His actions earned him several very curious glances from both colleagues and students alike. When another professor asked him what he was doing, he just shrugged. “Teaching a very important lesson on cause and effect,” he grinned.

                When the clock tower sounded, indicating that it was now one o’clock, Monroe shoved the bench back into place and opened the door. “That wasn’t funny,” Miles griped as he joined him in the hallway.

                If you can’t take it, don’t dish it, pal,” Monroe replied with a saccharine sweet smile. Getting back at Miles had simply felt too good and was worth letting the class get a day behind. When the room was empty, he headed down the hallway back to his office.

                “Hey, Professor Monroe!” A voice called from behind.

                He turned around to address the student. It was the boy with the doodle from the first day of class. The kid had actually turned out to be one of the better students in the class, once he learned to pay attention. “Mr. Perkins,” he acknowledged, waiting for the young man to catch up.

                “Did you really try to sleep with your high school principal’s daughter so you could steal the key to his office, or did General Matheson just make that up?”

                Monroe whipped his head around to glare at Miles, who was standing there trying to keep a straight face. “I really fucking hate you,” he said as he shoved him into the wall as hard as he could with one hand. He shook his head and walked away.

                “Well, did you?” Johnny Perkins called after him.

                With a sigh, Monroe turned back around. “Tried? Did—and I got the fucking key too, _and_ the password to his computer.”        

                “Right on,” the young man smiled, his opinion of his instructor having gone up a thousand percent. With that, he took off down the hall to get to his next class.

                “Can’t take it, don’t dish it, pal,” Miles mocked as he walked past, rubbing his shoulder where it had hit the wall.

                “Jesus Christ, Miles. What the hell did you teach them?” he asked.

                “It was a history class, so I taught them history. I just happened to change give them the history of Bass Monroe.”

                “You’re a dick,” Monroe ground out as he yanked open the door to his office.

                Miles just laughed at him. “And that’s what friends are for.”

                He’d spent the entire hour telling them every embarrassing story and crazy antic from Monroe’s youth that he could think of. They now knew about the time in their senior year that his friend had passed out naked in the middle of the football field after a group of them had all gotten shit faced and ran through the sprinklers buck ass naked on a dare. He’d also told them about the time that Monroe had picked the strip club in Tijuana, only to find out that hermafrodita was Spanish for hermaphrodite.

                He hadn’t planned on telling his class those things, but when he’d nervously asked them what they knew about their instructor they’d filled his ears with some of the horrible things he’d done, as well as heinous acts that even at his worst, Monroe would never have committed, and so things had just kind of gone from there. To be fair, he’d made sure to throw some embarrassing stories about himself for good measure. Then, he’d told them about some of the good things his friend had done.

                They knew about how Monroe almost got expelled from school by starting a fight with a guy that was bullying a kid everyone knew was secretly gay.  He also told them about the time that the older of his two sister’s boyfriend had come down with mono just a week before her senior prom, so Monroe had rearranged his leave. Cancelling a planned trip to Key West with friends, Monroe had instead come home and taken his sister to prom.

                Miles told them about how Gail Monroe had sent their professor a care package every month, like clockwork during his tours in Iraq. He’d always take whatever tin of cookies or candy she’d included and would pass them out to the local children, some of which were so poor that they would never receive such a treat at home. He’d even gone as far as emailing her some English translations of local recipes, asking her to try to make them. That had been the person he was, and Miles did a good job making sure they wouldn’t forget that.

                When one of the girls in the class had asked how he’d gone from that man to the general they’d all grown up to fear, he’d sworn them all to secrecy and then told them about the loss of his family and then the loss of his wife and child. More than anything, Miles had decided that someone needed to make him more human in their eyes.

                And so, Miles had done him a favor by reaching out to his students—they were, after all the easies minds to change. They respected him because of his position demanded it, but they still saw him as this mythical monster and murderer. Now, there were thirty young minds that saw a man that had been driven by loss and desperation to do things he’d never known he was capable of. In that respect, he’d followed the subject matter of the class perfectly.

                Miles was sure that Monroe would be livid when he found out, but he’d get over it. If he was so insistent on living a normal life, he had to let people see him as a normal person. A huge part of his isolation had always been because he’d set himself apart from everyone else. That was all well and good when you were trying to head an army, but was destructive when you were trying to move on with your life.

                As Generals, they’d both had to make the men see them as commanding officers, not comrades in arms. His friend did not deal well with the loneliness, however. He’d lost too many people to take it, so when Miles had left Philly, there’d been no one to fulfill that role. When he’d refused to come to Nashville from the get go, Monroe had never had someone there.

                Despite Charlie’s insistence that he’d been fine before they’d shown up, Miles was still convinced otherwise. Sure, she and Shawn Harris may have helped Monroe keep his head above water for a while, but it had only been a matter of time. The fact that he and Rachel had been involved may have made things worse, but the deciding factor in Monroe’s descent back into hell had been his son. That would have happened with or without their help.

                Miles couldn’t change the past, but he could make sure that Monroe didn’t feel that helpless isolation again. He still felt guilty for helping Connor, regardless of the effect it may have had. Whether the man realized it not (or liked it or not), he needed people—the more the better. That way, when someone left, there would always be others around. It was the best apology he could make, even if the man didn’t see it that way.

                Monroe managed to successfully ditch Miles for the last class, but like a bad penny, he showed right back up to irritate him on the walk home. They were halfway there when Miles suddenly stopped walking. “Look at me, I was having so much fun bugging you, I lost track of time. Walk me to the train station?”

                “Okay…” Monroe hissed under his breath. If it meant finally getting rid of him, he was all too happy to comply.

                As they walked, Miles continued to babble about this and that. All the while Monroe did his best to ignore him, as he’d done all day. For a man that had spent almost fifty years silently brooding (he was convinced that Miles had been born with a frown), the man had certainly become a Chatty Cathy of late. This was something that Monroe couldn’t stop himself form grumbling more than once as they walked.

                They finally reached the train station, much to Monroe’s vast relief. He was tired, downright grouchy and hungry besides. All he wanted was to get home, eat dinner and relax—in complete silence. He stopped at the main entryway to the station house and offered Miles a mock salute. “This is my stop. It’s been… interesting,” he said.

                Immediately Miles went to stop him from escaping. “What’s the rush, brother? I hear there’s a good bar inside. Train won’t be here for a while anyway.”

                Inwardly groaning, Monroe reluctantly agreed. A bar likely meant food, so that would take care of one of his immediate problems. On top of that, maybe a good buzz would make Miles seem less obnoxious. _What the hell has gotten into him today?_ With gritted teeth, he followed the man into the main station in search of a very stiff drink.

                The longer they sat in the bar, the weirder Miles started to act, if that was even possible. He was constantly checking his pocket watch and fidgeted nonstop. _If he’s in such a hurry, why did he want to come here in the first place?_  

                He seemed desperate to keep up the small talk and kept ordering another round before their last was even half gone. Currently, Monroe sat with two backups to the glass he held. It was if Miles was terrified that he would get fed up and leave. Out of nowhere he jumped off his stool and slammed a few diamonds down on the bar and headed out to the platforms. “Come on, time to go!” he said, yanking Monroe up.

                “Where are you going, dumbass?” Monroe asked as Miles stood in front of the train that had just pulled up. “The Eastbound platform is on the other side of the station. This train just came from there.”

                “Oh, I’m not getting _on_ the train,” he grinned.

                “But you said--”

                “I asked you to walk me to the train station. I didn’t say I had a ticket.” He led Monroe to where the passengers were exiting the train. “We aren’t here so I can get on; we’re here because someone’s getting off.”


	20. Implied Invitations and Vague Acceptence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initially there was this chapter and then the epilogue, but then I had a little plot bunny run through the garden that was this chapter, and all hell broke loose. The dialog wasn’t flowing well, and I felt that it was too much at once (and as it is, it’s already pretty long) and that it needed to be broken up a bit.  
> Initially, I’d wanted to post this chapter and the next, but it still needs a bit of tweaking and I’ve been busy with life so I haven’t gotten to it. To be honest, I wasn’t going to post this right away, but I snuck out for a girl’s night and the vodka is making me publish…  
> If I’m lucky, the last chapter and epilogue will be up by the end of the weekend, if not, please don’t hate me. As it was, if I don’t post this now, lord knows when it’ll happen. Thanks again to everyone that’s stuck with this story despite the lengthy breaks and broken promises. (P.S. please excuse any errors I didn’t catch because… Vodka…)

                The smile on Miles’ face broadened when he saw who he was looking for. Monroe let his gaze travel in the direction Miles was looking. It took him a second to see who they’d come to meet, but suddenly there she was; Charlie stepped off the train holding Bethany.

                “Charlie?” he looked from Miles to Charlie and back again. “What the hell is going on?”

                Before anyone could answer, a porter came up behind them. “Miss Matheson?” when she acknowledged that he’d found the right person, he looked at his clipboard. “Your baggage is being loaded into the wagon, as you’ve requested. If you will please provide me with the address, I can have it delivered for you.”         

                In a daze, Monroe answered the man’s question when Charlie indicated that her baggage was being delivered to his house. The porter wrote it down and then disappeared. “Excuse me, what’s being delivered?”

                Charlie reached up and patted his cheek. “Our stuff. Bethany needs more than a pack and play, don’t you think?”

                “Wait, what?” Monroe stammered. “You’re—you’re moving here?”

                “Wow, you’re slow, Bass,” Miles answered for her.

                He turned to face her idiot of an uncle. “So all of this today..?”

                “—was to make sure you were here—on time, when she got off that train,” he replied, his grin widening, so much was he enjoying watching a baffled Bass finally start to get it.

                If it wasn’t for the fact that she was here and obviously intent on staying, Monroe very well could have hit him right then and there. “You could have just asked me to be here!”

                Miles shrugged. “What’s the fun in that? Besides it would have spoiled the surprise.”

                Monroe felt he had two options at the moment—he could turn into an emotional wreck in the middle of the train station for the entire world to see or he could get really pissed off at Miles. He quickly decided on option two. “You’ve been practically torturing me all day!” he shouted. “Was that really necessary?”

                The reaction sent Miles into a fit of laughter. “Oh, that was just for me. Rachel doesn’t let me get out much.”

                “I can see why,” he muttered as he turned back to Charlie. “You’re really here? You’re really staying this time?”

                “Yeah, and I’m starving. Let’s go home?” she affirmed as she handed Bethany off to Monroe. Linking her arm with her uncle’s, she let him lead her from the platform.

                Monroe watched them disappear into the station house, laughing like idiots as they went. Bethany cooed at him and reached up to tug on his ear. He looked down at her and caught her happy smile. “Don’t look at me, I have _no_ idea what just happened here,” he told her before finally moving to catch up.

                The wagon beat them home, so they were met with a pile of furniture and bags in the front yard. Charlie took the baby inside to feed and change while Monroe and Miles were left to bring everything inside. Halfway through, Chuck came home from work and helped them.

                Within a few hours, Bethany had her own room set up and ready to go. Taking pity on Monroe and the way his life had gotten flipped around overnight, Jackie sent her oldest son over with a loaf of fresh bread and a casserole for them. Before Miles had a chance to raid the kitchen, Monroe pushed him towards the door. “Not that I don’t appreciate it and all, but I’ve had just about enough brotherly love as I can take for one day. Go away.”

                He shoved Miles out on the porch and locked the door behind him. Miles laughed until something dawned on him. “Damn, my shit’s still inside.” He was getting ready to knock when the door opened again and he was hit in the face with his jacket and backpack. Moments later he was locked out once more, and he could have sworn he heard the dog flop down in front of it as an added layer of defense.

                With an amused shake of the head, he put his jacket on, grabbed his gear and started off down the road towards the closest inn. When he’d arrived the night before, he’d still had his reservations about Charlie’s plans, and so he’d gone out of his way to do everything he could to force a knee-jerk reaction from her chosen jerk. He’d pulled off all the stops in trying to get Monroe to explode.

                He had to hand it to him; his brother had handled it surprisingly well. Instead of following him to that last class, he’d cut him a break and had done a bit of snooping instead. He’d talked to the man’s colleagues and even tracked down some of the students he’d noticed in Monroe’s classes throughout the day.

                He’d learned quickly that Monroe had settled into this next phase of his life in a way that he hadn’t expected. Most of the other professors had gotten over his identity. The dean hadn’t received any complaints either. Most of the student body saw him as being a bit tough but fair. At times he was even accused of being slightly reserved—not a word he’d ever consider when trying to define Monroe, by any means.

                From what he’d been told, he let just enough humor show through so that his students and colleagues alike knew he couldn’t possibly be a complete stiff. Sure, they’d still been a little terrified of him (which hopefully would be resolved sooner, thanks to the impromptu “history” lesson), but they’d all respected him.

                He kept his classes casual, never graded on a curve and took the occasional shots that were still sent his way because of the past in stride. Laughing off insult was never something he’d been good at before, but he seemed to have learned a bit of humility along the way, or at the very least some self-control.

                Miles now had every confidence that he didn’t have to intervene and that the couple would be okay. Now, all he had to do was convince Rachel and Gene of it. He’d still stick around for a few days, just in case, but he knew he’d overstayed his welcome and they needed time alone—they had a lot they needed to talk about before they could really begin their life together.

                After dinner, Charlie had disappeared with Bethany while Monroe cleaned up the kitchen. He was just drying the last few dishes when she appeared in the doorway. “Bethany’s all ready for bed. Would you mind putting her down while I unpack?” she asked. “We can talk after she’s down.”

                Monroe was surprised at the request. Charlie had been doing everything all this time and he’d never really had any one on one time with his daughter. “Yeah, I can do it,” he murmured as he dried his hands.

                Charlie handed the child off and then headed towards what would now be their bedroom. “Her book is on the rocking chair. After her story, I always rock her until she gets sleepy, but put her down before she falls asleep,” she said over her shoulder before disappearing.

                He was nervous as hell. He’d stared down Iraqi insurgents, other militias, rebels, Miles and the Patriots, but here he was, scared to death of an eleven month old girl—his girl. He found the book and sat down in the rocking chair with his daughter. _The Pokey Little Puppy_. The old Golden Book had seen much better days, but it still had all of its pages. He remembered reading the same book to his youngest sister years ago when he’d been forced to babysit as a teenager.

                Taking a deep breath, he dug his reading glasses out of his pocket and got started. While he read, he was unaware of the audience that watched from just outside of the room. Charlie watched them together and couldn’t help but feel just a little jealous. In Willoughby, Bethany never sat still when her mother or grandfather tried to do the honors. Monroe was still practically a stranger to the girl, but she’d taken to him and all of these changes beautifully.

                Confident that he could handle the bedtime ritual, Charlie went back to work. She had a lot to do before the end of the night and wanted to get it done quickly so that they could really talk. Coming here and moving them in with Monroe was a big risk and she still had some reservations. There were a lot of ‘what ifs’ hanging in the balance and the past few weeks had been nerve wracking as she’d rushed to get everything done so she could get them here.

                The story done and Bethany getting drowsy, Monroe was still reluctant to put her in her crib. He still couldn’t quite believe that this was really happening. Now that it was, he was absolutely terrified. Yes, he wanted them here. He wanted it so badly that he didn’t know how to process the day’s events. He didn’t understand why she’d suddenly decided not only to let him in Bethany’s life, but into hers as well.

                He eventually quit stalling and laid his daughter in her crib, handing her the teddy bear that he’d sent for Christmas and covering her with the old baby blanket that Charlie had draped over the side of the crib. He watched her for several more minutes, backing away when Bethany rolled over on her side, the small stuffed bear tucked under her arm.

                 Monroe knew Charlie was waiting for him in their room. _Our room…_ It was still a foreign concept to him. He hadn’t been a part of an “our” or “us” in so long that he wasn’t sure he even knew what to do. And so, feeling like an intruder in his own home, he stood in the doorway and watched Charlie as she shoved a stack of jeans in one of the drawers.

                When he’d woken up this morning, he’d been alone and single—well alone except for one very annoying childhood friend. Now, he was a part of something. Or, at least he would be. For now, he just needed to get through the talk he knew had to happen and yet dreaded all the same.

                He wasn’t an idiot. They needed to talk about Nashville and the way he’d treated her and the person he’d become. Needing to do something didn’t make it easy, however. It didn’t take a genius to see that he was a wreck most of the time; he knew it and didn’t bother trying to pretend otherwise. The difference was that he didn’t actually discuss it ever—not to Miles, not to anyone.

                Monroe knew the moment Charlie realized he was there. She almost dropped the shirt she was hanging up. She paused and looked up at him.  “Did you get her down okay?” she asked.

                Monroe offered her a weak smile. His heart was pounding in his chest and he felt almost dizzy. “Uh, yeah,” he replied. For lack of something else to do, he went over to the bed and started picking through the piles of clothes she’d sorted. He grabbed one of the hangers she’d dumped on the bed next to her shirts and got to work.

                “Good,” Charlie remarked as she grabbed a pile of folded undergarments and turned to stuff them in the top drawer.

                Monroe kept his eyes on the task in front of him, silently reprimanding himself for spending too much time picturing her in said undergarments. They continued in without speaking for quite some time, until the bed was finally cleared and everything was put away. Being Charlie and practical to a fault, she didn’t have any random odds and ends to unpack. Most of what she’d brought for herself was clothes and a few toiletries.

                For Bethany, there were a few boxes of toys—some lovingly handmade and some hand-me-downs from the pre-blackout world. She’d painstakingly made some decorations for Bethany’s nursery in Willoughby. Those would need to be unpacked as well, but otherwise she was already done invading his house.

                Now with nothing between them to act as a distraction, Charlie and Monroe just stood there with eyes locked. With so much to say, they were both at a loss about where to start. She was afraid that if she pushed, he’d just push back—he was terrified that if he said the wrong thing, she’d change her mind.

                Monroe took the first step. He crossed the room and pulled her into his arms. He didn’t speak. He just rested his chin lightly atop her head and locked his arms around her. Charlie had no choice but to rest her head against him, her palms flat on his chest. She didn’t doubt that if she pushed him away, he’d release her—not that she had any inclination to.

                When she realized that he wasn’t going to do more than just stand there and hold her, she finally broke the silence. “Let’s talk about Nashville.”

                He’d walked into the room with every intention of laying himself bare and just getting it over with, but when actually confronted with doing so, Monroe simply chickened out. He knew he had problems; Charlie knew it and so did Miles (and anyone else that spent any real amount of time with him, for that matter). The idea of discussing those issues was mortifying and he didn’t know if he had it in him to do so.

                “It’s been a long day for both of us—longer for me; you sicked Miles on me, remember? Can’t we do this tomorrow?”

                Charlie straightened her arms, effectively pushing herself right out of his embrace. “We have to talk about it, Bass. This isn’t unconditional.”

                Defeated, Monroe went over to the bed and sank down on the end of it, his elbows resting on his knees and head bowed. “I know, and we will. It’s just… you showed up and then disappeared again; and then you were back and after that night I thought…” He trailed off and tried to collect his thoughts. He wasn’t trying to make an accusation, but she’d been playing fast and loose with his emotions since she first knocked on his door in November. “… then you were gone, but now you’re back—I don’t know which way is up with you and this is a lot to take in.”

                Charlie was caught off guard by his outburst. “I—I thought you’d be happy we’re here,” she stammered.

                He softened at this display of insecurity from her. Charlie was the most confident person he knew and to see her unsure now reminded him how important this decision was to her. “Of course I am. I’m just overwhelmed right now. After Nashville, I thought I’d never see you again and it took months, but I finally came to terms with that. Then, I found out about Bethany and everything changed. The only thing I’ve ever done that was harder than knocking on that door was walking away again.”

                Monroe waited for Charlie to join him on the bed before continuing. “For the life of me, I can’t figure out _why_ you changed your mind. Why are you here?”

                She reached out and grabbed his hand, which was balled up into a fist in a vain attempt to keep his hands to himself. Forcing him to relax, she entwined her fingers with his. “You loved us enough to walk away, right? Well, we love you enough to follow you and give you a chance.”

                Monroe lost the internal struggle and pulled Charlie to him. As his mouth met hers, he reached up with his free hand and pulled the ribbon that held her hair captive, sending it cascading down. She’d never said those words to him before now. Not that he held it against her—he’d never said them until after it had been too late.

                He had forgotten the power that those three simple words could have; it had been over fifteen years since _anyone_ had uttered them to him. Shelly had been the last, in fact. To hear them now struck him straight through the middle and somehow made the darkness that he always carried within him seem to fade just a little.

                “Tell me again,” he practically begged against her lips.

                Charlie broke away and looked into his eyes. They were intense; wild and desperate. “I love you.”

                Monroe’s eyes fluttered shut and he let those words wash over him. When he opened them again, Charlie was watching him expectantly. His hands moved to cup her face as if they had minds of their own. “God, I love you so much,” he told her as he kissed her again.

                Things heated up and both forgot all about talking things out. Monroe pulled off his shirt and immediately went to undo the buttons of the soft flannel she wore. With fingers trembling in anticipation, he skimmed her collar bone with his fingertips before slipping her shirt off of her shoulders.

                Charlie’s bra soon found its way to the floor; shoes were kicked off and pants undone and shed. Charlie crawled into his lap, straddling him and sinking down to take him inside her. He cupped her bottom with one hand, helping to lift her. His other made its way to the middle of her back, settling there and pushing her towards him. He kissed her neck and then toyed with her earlobe, teeth lightly nipping.

                Charlie gasped at the sensation, shivers going up and down her spine, the pressure in her belly increasing until it became unbearable. She was so close; the fullness within and friction without overwhelmed her. When his tongue found one taught nipple and began to slowly swirl around it, she lost it completely and came apart.

                The feel of her contracting around him and the sound of her moans in his hear took Monroe the rest of the way. Both hands lifted her, slamming her back down on his length as he thrust his hips upward to meet her each time. “I’m gonna come,” he warned her.

                Charlie kissed him, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth. “So come,” she replied.

                Somehow, knocking her up her first day back did not seem like a wise decision. “Too soon,” he groaned, the sound of his voice strangled as he started to go over. He lifted her up at the last second, barely pulling out in time. “Fuck, Charlie,” he moaned as he spilled between them.

                Sated and now tired, Monroe flopped backwards, taking her with him. They stayed that way for quite some time; Charlie sprawled over him, his legs hanging off the end of the bed. As far as he was concerned, he was content to spend the rest of the night that way.

                Unfortunately, Bethany wasn’t having it and began to fuss in the next room. Charlie got up and used his shirt to wipe her belly clean of his seed, tossing it at him with a smirk as she went for the robe she’d hung up in his closet an hour before.

                While she checked on their daughter, Monroe reluctantly got up and locked up the house and turned all the lamps down. By the time he got back into their room, Charlie was just yanking an old (and very large) t shirt over her head. She crawled into bed, clad only in that shirt and panties. Taking the hint, he found a pair of sweatpants and yanked them on before joining her. He hadn’t considered that parenthood meant no more sleeping naked.

                Charlie let Monroe pull her close and wrap himself around her. She snuggled in comfortable and warm. It really had been an exhausting day for the both of them. Still, there was something that bothered her. “Why did you stop?” she asked after a few minutes of silence.

                His beard scratched her skin as he kissed her shoulder. “I’ve had the both of you here for about five hours. Let me get used to having our little family before we try to enlarge it.”

                Satisfied with his answer, Charlie closed her eyes and sighed in contentment, ready to go to sleep—until more niggling thoughts began to bounce around in her mind. She knew he was dozing off; the rise and fall of his chest against her back was slowly evening out. “Are you asleep?” she asked.

                “So close,” he said, a tired whine in his voice.

                “We can figure out the rest tomorrow, but I need to know…  I don’t understand how we can share this and you not think it was real for me.”

                Any hopes of putting it off for a day or two had been crushed. Monroe pushed himself up on one elbow and leaned over Charlie, waiting for her to roll over to face him. “I didn’t—not really. When I calmed down, I realized what I’d done. It didn’t even take very long. You probably weren’t even to your room before I snapped out of it.”

                “Then why, Bass?”

                “Because you’re not the first person that I’ve accused of something when I knew better,” he admitted. He then told her the fate of one of the last friends he had in Philadelphia and how in a moment of insanity and paranoia he’d ordered the execution of Jeremy Baker. It was one of the darkest secrets he still held and the confession did not come easily for him. “Of course I knew you wouldn’t do that to me, but when I saw how easily my mind went there, I knew I had to get you out of there and away from me. You weren’t safe there any more, Charlie. Neither were Miles and your mom. It didn’t really matter—you were leaving anyway, remember?”

                “You had us dragged out of the country under armed guard like we were criminals,” Charlie sniffed. Her eyes welled up as she thought back to the way that day had felt.

                “No, I had you escorted to the train station by a friend before I could hurt you worse. You’ve gotta understand. When Shawn told me you were leaving, I wanted to stop you, but I knew I couldn’t. If you’d have stayed, I eventually would have done something I couldn’t come back from.” He stopped and wiped her tears away, ignoring the fact that his own were forming. “I went about it the wrong way, but it was the right thing to do. That and yeah, I convinced myself it would hurt less to force you to go than to let you be the one doing the leaving.”

                Charlie didn’t exactly know how to respond to that, so she settled back down next to him. When he slumped back on the pillow, she curled into him, laying her head on his chest. As he absently stroked her arm with his thumb, Monroe continued to speak, the words just coming out, regardless of how little he wanted to talk about it. “It’s funny. A year ago I was sitting in Blanchard’s office, begging him to take my country away from me and all I could think was how I should have written to him in the first place. It would have saved everyone a hell of a lot of trouble.”

                “We almost had it. If you’d have just let Miles and I help you, we might still be in Nashville right now,” Charlie insisted. A part of her was still angry that he’d basically fired her, and not just because of their personal relationship. She’d worked her ass off to help him and despite her reluctance to admit that she wanted to stay on permanently, she’d really never wanted to leave. Once she’d gotten involved, she’d started to believe in it. It was insulting that he’d given up on her so easily. “All of that hard work, all gone to waste.”

                “I never should have been there in the first place. I should have just gone back to Willoughby with all of you after the war. I sure as hell didn’t ever really want another republic.” Monroe betrayed his bitterness over his decision.

                “I thought you did it for Connor.”

                He scoffed at the idea of that now. “Deep down, I knew what he really was. It was my own pride more than anything that got me into that mess. It always is. No, I did it because no one thought I could or should.”

                Charlie arched her neck to look up at him. “Since when did you ever care what anyone thought of you?”

                “Easy for you to say. You’re the one that has everyone you meet tripping all over themselves to be near you.”

                Charlie rolled her eyes at that description. “Now that’s just ridiculous.”

                “And yet it’s still true. You got Miles to come out of hiding, made Aaron grow a couple, got that Neville kid to turn his back on his own family and made me, of all people, want to do the right thing—and you weren’t even trying with us. Imagine what you could do if you actually put an effort into it.

                “Me? Well, it’s not easy being the guy everyone hates to love and loves to hate. You have no idea what it’s like to have everyone around you see nothing more than a monster—and an incompetent one at that.”

                “That’s not how we see you,” Charlie snapped. “And I wish you’d stop that.”

                Monroe sighed, and slid her off of him. The proximity and weight of the day was making him say things he’d never intended to say aloud, at least not that night. “There’s a reason Miles believed Connor without even questioning it. I mean, the guy’s known me my whole life, but he believes a little thug he’s known for a year?”

                “And he feels like shit for it, and you know it. If he had to do it all over again, you know Miles would have come to Nashville to talk to you.” She now lay rigid in the bed.

                “It doesn’t matter now. It’s over.” When he saw how tense he was, Monroe forced himself to relax. “Let’s just go to sleep. I don’t want to have a fight over how stupid and crazy I got, not tonight.”

                Charlie let the subject drop. She knew if she kept it up and insisted in taking the discussion further, he’d just shut down at any rate. He was already trying to. The days to come would be soon enough to try and figure the rest out. “I wasn’t trying to pick one. I’m sorry.”

                He kissed her temple and shifted to get comfortable, resuming his early position. He pulled her tightly to him, her back resting against his chest. “I _am_ happy you’re here. No matter what, remember that.” That was the last thing he said before they finally fell asleep.   

                 When he opened his eyes again, Monroe realized that it was well into the day. A glance out the window showed that the sun was high, indicating it was almost lunch time. She’d just let him sleep all damn day (not that he hadn’t needed it). He looked around, brows furrowed when no signs of life were in the house. Worried, he poked his head outside. The day was already proving to be warmer than it had been in weeks and Miles was sitting on his front porch steps, holding his great-niece.

                Bethany was giggling as she yanked on his eyebrows and Miles was whining good naturedly about it. Charlie was chatting with Jackie while her two youngest (and only two that were not in school) ran around the front yard squealing with glee and Lump was sprawled just to the right of the door.

                “Bout time you woke up,” Miles quipped as Monroe snagged his daughter, lifting her high above his head. The baby giggled in delight at her father’s antics, settling comfortably in his arms as he joined Charlie in the yard. He greeted Jackie and paused to give Charlie a quick peck.  

                Both women quickly explained to him that Jackie had come over to introduce herself now that Charlie had time to settle in. Knowing that he was running on empty from the previous day, Charlie had decided to keep to the outdoors so they didn’t wake him. “Jackie was just telling me that she and Chuck were planning on cooking out, since the weather’s so nice,” she told him.

                She didn’t really see the excitement of it. If anything cooking on an open flame was a necessary evil to traveling, not a recreational pastime, but for city dwellers that rarely left Austin now, their neighbors considered it entertainment. “What do you think?”

                “That good barbecue is becoming a lost art, so we should practice it whenever we can and pass it on to our children,” `he grinned. “And that I wish we had beer. Barbecues were always better with beer.”

                “I second that!” Miles shouted from his vantage point.

                 “Well I guess that’s decided then,” Charlie mused as she took Bethany back from her man and headed inside to leave Miles and Monroe to start planning the evening meal and to get the afternoon one started. She still didn’t get it, but then again she found a lot of the sentiments of people who’d grown up before the blackout to be odd at times.

                As she made lunch and watched them out the window, she decided that she’d made the right decision. Granted, things weren’t all resolved, but he’d at least gotten talking a little. After spending the morning getting to know the woman next door, she knew she’d eventually have a confidant as she adjusted to life here, and Miles had seemed to think that things would work out. That left her feeling optimistic at least.  


	21. Your Friends Know Best, Humor Them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all… Sorry again for the long delay. I’d had the last chapter of this done, but when I’d reread it, I felt I was letting Charlie off a bit too easily. That, and I had an interesting scene pop up in my head that I just couldn’t seem to forget.   
> This has ended up being a lot longer than I’d initially thought (the next several chapters extending it out by maybe another 8k words at least), and I’d hoped to get at least two out today, but alas I must work early.  
> My industry typically hits the ground running after new year’s, and this year has been no exception to that rule, so between that and chasing my kids around, I’ve been a bit too sleepy to write at night (that and when the hubby is home, I get no writing done whatsoever—he’s a chatty Cathy and I swear he does it on purpose!).   
> This chapter does not feature our favorite couple at all, but is a reflection of how things have been going for them and advances the story to the next phase, I think. Initially, this was just a narrative from Charlie’s perspective of the happenings of the first weeks in Austin, but it was harder to stop it at a decent place. I also wanted to bring Shawn Harris back for a second, because I loved writing his character and it seemed like such a waste to make him disappear completely…  
> I will try to get another chapter or two out tomorrow if all goes well—we’ll see. Now without further ado…

_March_   

                “Well that wasn’t awkward at all,” Miles mumbled as he led the way through the streets of Austin back to the inn that he’d been staying at with Aaron and Priscilla. They’d come to town three days prior with the dual purpose of attending Bethany’s first birthday party and for the Pittmans to make arrangements for their impending move from Willoughby.

                “Huh? I thought that went rather well,” Aaron replied, confused. They’d just spent the afternoon and the better half of the evening at Monroe’s house for the party and would be returning to Willoughby on the morning train. The weather had been mild enough for them to hold it outdoors and half the neighborhood had attended. The only notable absences had been Charlie’s mother and grandfather, neither of which had accepted her choice to move to Austin as of yet.

                For a genius, Miles thought that Aaron could be dense some times. “Really? You didn’t see it?”

                “I sure as hell did,” Shawn Harris piped up. Despite his persistent dislike of his former employer’s so-called “brother,” he still agreed with him. “Something is off there.” They’d all left the party together, having stayed long after Bethany had fallen asleep. His apartment wasn’t far from the inn and he’d offered to walk back with them—the streets of Austin could be confusing at night and he was by far more familiar with them.

                Aaron still didn’t understand. “They seemed kinda, you know… happy.” As far as he was concerned it was a pleasant surprise to find the Monroe-Matheson household so peaceful.

                “He didn’t make one fat joke and not one time did the words ‘dick,’ ‘prick’ or ‘douchebag’ come out of Bass’ mouth,” Miles protested. “That’s not normal.”

                “Yeah, and it was nice for a change.”

                Shawn thought about this. Come to think of it, Monroe had seemed quieter than normal. He’d watched Miles bait the man half the evening as they’d sat around the lawn sharing a glass of whiskey after the rest of the guests had left and not once had his friend responded in kind. _That_ certainly was odd. “Even on a good day, he’s not _nice_ ,” he agreed.

                Aaron still disagreed. “Maybe he is now. This is a good thing. The old Monroe was a crass, psychotic, alcoholic dickhead.”

                “Yeah, but he was our crass, psychotic, alcoholic dickhead. That was part of his charm.” Miles frowned, worried. “I’ve known him my whole life. I’m telling you, Sebastian Monroe 2.0 is too good to be true.”

                It hadn’t just been at the party. Miles had watched Monroe for the past several days and he seemed like a completely different person than the one he’d tried to annoy to death three months prior. This man was pensive and quiet, like he was afraid of something. Even before he fell apart, Monroe didn’t know how to be quiet. It was like the ability to keep his mouth shut had been left out of the man’s DNA.

                He’d accompanied Monroe on a trip to the market to get some things for the party the day before and they’d had a run-in with someone that hadn’t exactly been a fan. Monroe had turned around and for a second, Miles thought that he was going to deck the guy. He’d stood there with his jaw and fists clenched, but instead of lashing out, he’d turned back to the task of bargaining with the butcher.

                Even the Bass of days long past would have reacted—especially after the asshole had made a comment about the former general’s parentage (that being a sensitive subject and all). When Miles had asked him about the lack of response, he’d blown it off and used his job as an excuse. “Getting arrested for disturbing the peace wouldn’t exactly put me in the university’s good graces,” he’d said, before telling him to drop it.

                Miles had pulled Charlie aside this evening and had mentioned the change in him, but she hadn’t seemed concerned. Instead, she acted like she was pleased by this new incarnation of Monroe and had insisted that he be supportive. He still had his doubts despite all of his niece’s optimism.

                When he’d come to Austin ahead of Charlie the month prior, Monroe had surprised him with his transition into a “civilian” life, but he’d still been Bass. He’d seemed happier—like he’d come to peace with himself, but still had the rough edges that Miles had been accustomed to for years. Now, he just seemed dimmer, passive even. _That_ was not his friend.

                They finally reached the inn. Aaron and Priscilla said their goodnights and headed inside. It was quite late by the time they’d gotten there and the train would come all too early in the morning. Not ready to turn in yet, Miles invited Harris to the inn’s tavern for a drink. He could tell that the younger man was initially inclined to refuse, but their concerns about their mutual friend had him accepting regardless.  

                “What do you think, Shawn?” Miles asked as they were waiting to be served.

                Harris furrowed his brows, clearly as concerned as he was. “I think that a calm and collected Bass is a disaster waiting to happen. I may not have known him as long as you have, but I know him pretty well. He’s bottling up and it’s just a matter of time before he explodes.”

                Miles nodded in agreement he picked up the drink the bartender had just set in front of him. “The question is, why?”

                “Who knows? I’m only in town for a few more days though, so it’s not like I can keep an eye on him.”

                Miles laughed into his whiskey. “Where does Walnuts have you running off to now?”

                “New Vegas. There’s some bad shit coming down out of there and he’s decided to put a stop to it. We’re going to try to shut the town down peacefully—if not?” he left that to linger. He had no stomach for shooting up a town, but he’d do his job. New Vegas wasn’t exactly your typical town anyway.

                “It’ll just spring up again somewhere else. That’s the fourth or fifth incarnation at any rate,” Miles told him.

                Harris swirled the whiskey in his glass, staring into it. “Yeah, well at least we can make sure it sprouts up somewhere else—hopefully closer to Cali.” He hesitated for a second before continuing. He hadn’t been planning on saying anything before now, but since the topic of conversation had been going back to Monroe all evening, he decided to bring it up anyway.

                “So, some of the guys I’ve been working with on this were part of the team that Blanchard sent to track down Bass. That’s why they’ve been assigned to the mission—they got a good look first hand at what’s going on there.”

                “I heard he was prize fighting again when they found him,” Miles commented evenly.

                Harris slammed his drink down and ordered another round. He waited until the bartender went back to the other side of the bar before he spoke again, lowering his voice as if everyone around them actually cared about what he was going to say. “One of them told me that when they found him, he was mixed up in some of the shit we’re trying to stop. He was pretty fucked up at the time—barely knew where he was.”

                “Well, he doesn’t seem like he’s got a problem now.” He had a hard time believing that Monroe would get that far into that particular lifestyle, but maybe that just went to show him how bad off his friend had been before starting over. The revelation of that part of his brother’s life still made him uneasy though.

                “I know, but with the way he’s been acting and what he’d been doing down there… I don’t know, it just makes me wonder what’s really going on.” He felt stupid for bringing it up now. Surely one didn’t have anything to do with the other.

                Miles thought about this for a few minutes, finishing his drink in silence. He set a few diamonds and coins on the bar to pay for the tab and stood. “Aaron and Priscilla will be here by the start of summer. They’ll help keep an eye on him—and I’m sure I can come up with an excuse here and there for a surprise visit.”

                Miles went upstairs to his room, but sleep was a long way off. From what he could see, from an outside perspective, Monroe and Charlie seemed like a normal, happy couple. Anyone that hadn’t known them would have thought Monroe had been in Bethany’s life from day one.

                The toddler followed him around like his second shadow and it was obvious how much Monroe loved her and doted on her—giving in to every whine to be picked up or played with. The same went for Charlie. He’d seen the man with Shelly and knew how he acted when he was in love—this was like that but somehow so much more. It was almost disgusting how much it radiated off of him.

                He’d asked Charlie if they’d resolved everything, and she told him they’d been working through it, but now he wasn’t so sure. She’d mentioned that they hadn’t finished talking about what happened in Nashville _after_ they’d left—and that had been a big part of why she’d initially decided to hide Bethany from him in the first place.

                When she’d discovered she was pregnant, she’d spent months trying to figure out what to do. Of course, her mother had been pushing her towards hiding Bethany from the start—Rachel didn’t want Monroe anywhere near her granddaughter. Miles understood, and had told Charlie from the get go that he’d support whatever she decided to do, but he’d also known that Monroe would be devastated if he’d ever found out.

                Now that she was here, however he felt that his niece needed to be committed to it, come what may. The idea that she’d given Monroe an ultimatum of sorts did not rest easily with Miles. Knowing Bass, he’d do anything she asked to hold on to her and Bethany.

                As he lay there, worrying about two of the people he loved most in the world, the truth suddenly dawned on Miles: Monroe was trying to be the person that Charlie wanted him to be—or the person he thought she wanted him to be.

                For whatever reason, he thought that the man she wanted was the human incarnation of that lazy pile of fur and farts that Monroe called a dog. Of course he would try and change for her—that was Bass in a nutshell. He’d been so afraid of losing Miles after Shelly died that he’d become the brutal killer he’d thought Miles wanted him to be. When he’d gotten a piece of himself back after losing the first Republic, he’d only become that man again when Connor had made it clear that’s what _he’d_ wanted.

                Having lost so many people, the man tended to get a little desperate when it came to holding onto someone he loved. If this went on, Miles knew it would not end well. For one thing, there was only so long Monroe would be able to keep up a charade like this. For another, Charlie would one day wake up and realize that this impersonation of Sebastian Monroe was _not_ the man she fell in love with. He just hoped that they both realized what was happening before it was too late.


	22. You are stupid, stubborn and think too much.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a lot of internal dialog and serves to set the scene for the next two chapters....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I keep saying that you won’t have to wait long for more, and then I go another week or two with nothing. I’m sorry! Work, life etc and then every time I sit down to edit, I get distracted by something else or I notice something doesn’t flow right and have to rework it and so on. I’m still not sure if I’m happy with this chapter—not a lot of dialog, just internal musings of both characters that will set up the next chapter... It came down to publishing today or banging my head in frustration for another week, so I chose the former to save the wall from dents.  
> Thanks to anyone that bothered to read the last chapter. I know I lost a lot of readers with the big gap there and hopefully some of you will come back by the time this is through. Double thanks to anyone that commented (especially when, yes I still owe you all many comments)  
> This is the first of two chapters for today. I decided to try make up for the gaps with extra reads. I hope you all enjoy!

_May…_

                Charlie sat on the end of the bed, folding the last load of laundry. From the kitchen, she could smell the roast she’d picked up from the butcher’s that morning, cooking away in preparation for that evening’s dinner. The cake Randi had helped her with was already frosted and hopefully _not_ melting from the heat, sitting out on the counter. Bethany was napping and if luck was on Charlie’s side, she’d stay down long enough for her to get cleaned up.

                It was more than just an ordinary Friday. It was the last day of the semester _and_ Monroe’s birthday. He’d insisted on her not making a big deal out of either event, but Charlie was not deterred. They were going to celebrate and Monroe was going to like it-- even if she had to beat happiness into him with a stick.

                For one, it wasn’t just the end of the semester. It was the last day of the first school year for the only fully functional university in North America. It was a big deal, and Monroe was a part of that. She was proud of him, and wanted to make sure he knew it. The fact that it was his birthday just added to her need to make the day special.

                He’d seemed especially stressed out this week, and so she was determined to start the summer of right. She’d asked him about his recent display of anxiety and he’d told her that he was just tired. The end of year push meant a lot of papers to grade, exams to prepare and so on. He was kind of on a deadline and if experience had taught Charlie anything, he didn’t handle that kind of pressure well.

                The basket now empty, Charlie stood up and stretched to relieve the cramp in her back from bending over the clothes. Bethany was still out, so she went to get cleaned up. She’d even gone as far as splurging on a new little sundress and some strappy little pre-blackout sandals. Personally, she hated getting dressed up, but knew that Monroe would appreciate the effort.  

                She bathed quickly and went to get dressed. As she fixed her hair, the last few months replayed in her mind. Their time together thus far had required a lot of adjusting and bending on both their parts, and there were still things they needed to work through. He’d still refused to talk more about the way he’d lost it in Nashville, for one.

                He’d been blowing it off despite her best efforts to get him to open up. She knew she needed to be patient with him. After all, it couldn’t be easy an easy topic to discuss. She’d made her feelings on the matter clear—working through all that mess was one of the conditions for her and Bethany being there, and had then let the matter drop for the time being.

                Otherwise, things between them seemed to be going exceedingly well. The way she and Bethany had someone wedged themselves into this new life in Austin almost seemed too good to be true. Monroe had instantly bent and made room for them in his world. For being someone that always seemed so stuck in his ways, he’d taken what most would consider an invasion fairly well.

                With an exception for the past week or so, he always used his Tuesday’s off to do whatever grading and lecture preparations he needed to get done. That way his evenings and weekends belonged to them. No matter how long his day was, he still helped her around the house, never expecting her to take care of everything just because she stayed home with Bethany—and he seemed happy to do it to.

                Charlie had grown up in a world where women fought alongside men in the militia and in war clans, but for most people, the blackout had reverted society back to a place where a woman stayed home and men looked for whatever work they could. This was not something she’d ever envisioned for herself, and Monroe seemed to just understand that without having to be told.

                He’d gone out of his way to make sure she never felt like being a homemaker was all she was good for. He constantly encouraged her to broaden her horizons, offering to take over from the moment he got home so that she could get out of the house. So far she hadn’t exactly taken him up on the offer—other than meeting Shawn for a drink when he was in town, she wouldn’t know what to do with herself, but the sentiment behind the offer was sweet.

                Other than that one lingering thing between them, it was all just… perfect. He turned to her every night, told her he loved her every morning and always seemed happy to see them when he walked in the door after work. He made a point to play with Bethany and keep her out of Charlie’s hair from the time she woke up from her nap until dinner time (except Fridays, which typically saw him coming in the door right as dinner was being set on the table), and insisted on helping with bedtime so Charlie could relax.

                For some reason, despite all of this perfection in her life, Charlie couldn’t help but wonder if there was something she was just missing. She blamed Miles for it, really. She’d been just fine until he’d opened the proverbial can of worms along with his big mouth and had questioned this new and improved version of his lifelong friend.

                Until then, she hadn’t questioned her good fortune. Now, she wasn’t so sure. She hated to over analyze things, but it was almost like their lives were too perfect. For one, she and Monroe _never_ fought. Even when he’d had better days in Nashville, they’d had differences of opinion and had almost enjoyed getting one another riled up while they debated one topic or other.

                Now? Monroe didn’t seem to have much of an opinion on anything—or if he did, he kept it to himself. It wasn’t as if they’d had any life altering decisions come up, but she’d have thought he’d disagree with her on _something_ if only to amuse himself. She went back and forth between deciding something was wrong and deciding that she was looking into it too much. A truly happy Monroe was such an unknown that maybe they just didn’t know what it looked like.

                Except… It wasn’t just that. Sometimes she could almost swear he wasn’t sleeping well. It wasn’t like he tossed or turned or kept her up. No, it was almost like he was too still—perfectly still, as if he was pretending to sleep but really wasn’t. He’d done a lot of that back in the days where they were always on the run outside of Willoughby. And yet, other than the past week where he’d been burning the midnight oil, he hadn’t complained about being tired (not that he ever complained about anything).

                And then there was the sex. It was frequent (okay, daily) and it was good sex—but was it _great_ sex? She didn’t really have a reason to complain, but she couldn’t help but feel like there was a piece of himself that he was holding back from her—and he _always_ pulled out. Even when he’d meant to stop in Nashville, he’d always had trouble remembering to actually do it. Now, he never seemed to have that problem.

                She’d even asked him about it, but he insisted that he wanted time to adjust to Bethany before giving her a sibling. He gave her no reason to take that anyway but at face value—and yet she still wondered. Was there more to it? Or maybe she was just driving herself crazy because for _once_ in her life everything seemed settled.

                The more she thought about the changes in him, the _less_ Charlie understood what was bothering her.  Just when she was almost able to put words to it, she would just convince herself that she was imagining things and dismiss these misgivings once more.

                Finished with her primping, her well-trained ears picked up on the sounds of Bethany playing in her crib. Charlie took one last look in the mirror, twisting this way and that. All in all, she decided that she didn’t clean up half bad. Resolved to not let her irrational worries get the best of her today, she went to go get Bethany ready for daddy.

_Meanwhile…_

                Monroe was having a bad day. First of all, he _hated_ birthdays. They were just another reminder that he was getting old. _Older… You’re not old, Bass—you’re just getting older. Yeah right.._. As much as he refused to admit that fact aloud, his internal dialog refused to leave him alone about it.

                Added that to the fact that the whole week had been shit, and it made for one iffy Friday. He’d spent the week bouncing back and forth between the offices of the head of his department, the dean of student affairs _and_ the chancellor. Officially, he’d been disciplined for insubordination. Unofficially, he was being thrown under the bus because a Congresswoman’s innocent little darling had decided that Monroe’s past meant an instant “A”, due to his mother’s connections. Unfortunately for his career, Monroe disagreed.

                In truth, the student in question (one Winston Powers—yes, even his name screamed entitled brat) had only shown up to a handful of lectures and hadn’t turned in an single assignment all semester—including the heavily weighted term paper due the week prior. The previous Friday, Monroe had pulled him aside and had flat out told him he was going to fail the class. He’d offered to let him turn the paper in on Monday for reduced credit. With that _and_ acing the final, there was a chance (albeit a small one) that Winston would just barely eke out a “C”.

                At the time, Monroe had meant the warning as a way of throwing a life preserver to a drowning student. He hadn’t been aware that a shit storm was about to follow. The first meeting consisted of himself, all three superiors and Congresswoman Leslie Powers. The psychotic woman had blatantly accused Monroe of failing her son because of a vendetta against her career.

                She’d been a rather vocal opponent when the issue of his appointment to the university had first been suggested by Frank Blanchard, and as far as she was concerned that was why he was “ruining her poor Winston’s college career”. In truth, Monroe had never even heard of the woman before Monday morning and even if he had, he wouldn’t have given two shits if she’d tried to stop him from getting the job. He got it; a lot of people hated him. It didn’t surprise him, and he really tried to not let it bother him.

                By the end of the week, after several more meetings and a visit from Old Walnuts himself, Monroe had been left with no choice but to play ball. He’d had to pass the little prick, no matter how much he’d wanted to tell them all to go fuck themselves. Blanchard had been very clear however—pass the kid or she’d take it to the committee that oversaw the university.

                Powers was a rising star in congress and her cousin was also on the committee as a non-congressional advisor. They’d eventually get what they wanted and he’d be out of a job. That warning would normally have elicited a resounding “Fuck you, I quit!” from him, but he had a family now. He needed the job to support them and up until Monday morning, it was a job he really loved.

                Monroe slammed the door to his office shut and flopped down behind the desk. The room was stifling so he swiveled the chair around and in his typical childish fashion, rolled himself over to the window. He jerked the window sash and then rolled back over to the desk. He equally childishly slumped forward and rested his forehead on the desk, mumbling every profane word he could think of under his breath.

                He’d left his last class for the day and had been all but dragged back into his immediate superior’s office once more. The message had been clear. The barely passing “C” and waiving Winston Power’s final exam were not considered cooperation. It was only luck and the grace of God that Powers had decided to drop the issue—this time.

                In the future, if he refused follow instructions in future “special cases,” he’d find himself unemployed. Indeed, the only reason he hadn’t been let go in the first place was because a few other members of congress had children who’d taken his classes the previous semester. When questioned, the young men and women had backed their former professor and that had been brought up in the meeting discussing his future at Frank S. Blanchard University. Those kids and the man the school was named after had basically saved his ass.

                Whereas Monroe could appreciate what those kids had done for him (and was moved by it really), what he could barely tolerate was having to thank Frank Blanchard for anything. He owed him for getting him the job already and it only made it worse to know he now owed him for being able to keep it.        

                The afternoon was quickly passing and he knew should be packing up his desk for the summer and heading home. _Home…_ That one place where no matter how bad your day was, the people there still loved you and would make it all better—except for the fact that he dreaded facing them today.

                He knew that despite his begging her not to (and the fact that she swore to leave it) that Charlie was planning something special tonight. He was in no mood to celebrate as it was. He’d been putting up a brave front all week and so far, she’d believed his excuse of just being tired. Today? He could give a performance worthy of an Oscar and he still wouldn’t be able to pull it off.

                Monroe had done everything in his power to keep the events from the week as far away from home as he could. The last thing he needed on top of all the stress at work was Charlie hanging over his shoulder, watching for signs of crazy—and he knew that’s exactly what she’d do. He knew her too well to be convinced otherwise.

                It was bad enough that she was constantly dropping hints about talking about his last bout of crazy. She’d only take this as a sign that all was not well with him and would insist they talk about all of it. There was no way in hell he was of any frame of mind to do that and yet he was afraid if he denied her one more time that she’d eventually get fed up with him and out the door she’d go.

                She’d already reminded him the last time that she was fully capable of doing just that. He’d already been walking around on eggshells since she’d been back as it was. It wasn’t that Monroe was unhappy—far from hit. He was ecstatic that they were there and still could scarcely believe it. After all these years and everything he’d done he _finally_ had the one thing he wanted.

                He was just terrified of losing it. Any resemblance to the monster he’d become in those weeks and months following Connor’s escape could very well send her running for Willoughby or even worse—somewhere he’d never find them. He’d been trying to leave that man behind—long before she’d even shown up in November. He’d already begrudgingly taken Blanchard’s job offer and had cleaned himself up a bit out of self-preservation. The moment he’d found out about Bethany however, he’d focused all of his energy into being a man a child could be proud to call father (even though he’d had no hopes at the time of that ever happening).

                The problem was that part of Monroe would always be there. He’d always be forced to fight against the darkness. Keeping it hidden at work was doable, but keeping it suppressed indefinitely? That wasn’t an exact science—or if it was, he hadn’t quite figured out the key to it… yet.

                He was hot tempered by nature and it took a lot of effort to keep it under control. His need to lash out constantly threatened to win out over logic (and if he was honest, sanity). Hell, during that last visit from Miles for Bethany’s birthday he’d had to resist the urge to knock the man on his ass at least a half dozen times before he lost count. And that guy at the market? He’d almost made himself sick with the rage he’s repressed after that asshole had made a comment about his parentage.

                The more he contained it, the more it bothered him. It was like having a splinter just under the surface that he couldn’t work free and it was driving him to distraction. The worse it got, the more he was afraid of letting it out and so on. It had become a vicious cycle and the past week was only adding to it. The frustration led to aggression, which built up and lead to anxiety, which was making him nuts.

                As much as he loved his family and wanted to come home and let them sooth the wounds from work, he also resented them just a little for the way he felt strangled by their presence. He knew it was a shitty way to feel, but until he found some outlet for all the rest of it, he couldn’t make it go away.

                And then there was that niggling little doubt deep inside that wondered what Charlie’s motivations for moving in even were. She said she loved him enough to give him a chance to be better, but did she really? They had a kid together and maybe she felt like shit for hiding their daughter and so this was a way to soothe her own guilt.

                He’d already been better, hadn’t he? Sure, he’d been lonely and depressed—but he’d always been lonely and depressed. That was a part of who he was every bit as much as his temper. Too much had happened over the past two decades for him to let that go entirely. He’d always be just a little insecure and just a little angry at the world.

                Once the Patriot Wars had ended, he’d given up trying to hide that fact from anyone, let alone Charlie. It wasn’t like he’d announced  or anything, but anyone with half a brain should have been able to figure out that he was a fucking mess and always would be. And yet, she somehow expected that to just disappear in one giant blaze of happy. He wasn’t built that way and he’d thought she’d known that. She’d accepted it once, long before they’d ever slept together. It had been one of the reasons he’d let her so close once in the first place.

                He’d meant it when he’d told her long ago that she’d become the best friend he’d ever had. He’d shown her what was really lurking under the surface, and she’d still been his friend. Not even Miles had been capable of that. Miles had taken a look, seen the emptiness and fear there and had turned his back on him—twice. Not his Charlie though. She’d stepped up regardless and had been there for him, only running when he’d forced her away.

                At least, he’d thought she had. Now, she expected that person to disappear and change into one she could tolerate. Maybe that darkness had been too much? Maybe she hadn’t understood after all? Either way, he found himself doubting everything and that filled him with more hurt and rage than he was capable of even acknowledging.

                Lost in thought, he packed up his personal items and got ready to leave for the day. Stopping at the door, he went back and dropped the box on the desk with a resounding bang. He’d left the window open—he’d better close it before he locked up. It would be Monday before the cleaning staff would be back and if it rained before then, the office would get wet and they’d probably find a reason to fire him for it.

                Monroe was halfway across campus before he remembered that he’d left the box behind. He stopped for a second and almost went back for it. _I can get it Monday morning_ , he thought to himself and kept walking. He acknowledged the waves of a few students and colleagues as he walked, not noticing the occasional odd look he received. He hadn’t even realized that he’d had an alternative destination in mind until he found himself on a completely different side of town from home…

_Later that evening…_

                Charlie sat at the kitchen table. Bethany had already been fed, bathed and put down for the night. What was left of dinner still sat out on the table. The bottle of wine she’d opened sat untouched and the candles she’d lit were almost burned down to stubs.

                Disappointed, hurt and a little worried, Charlie started to scrape what was left of the roast into Lump’s bowl. Hearing the meat hit the ceramic, the dog lumbered lazily into the room, plopping his shaggy bottom down in anticipation as the potatoes and gravy followed. As a rare sign of appreciation, the animal wagged his tail, clearly impressed with the spread she now offered him.

                By the time that the kitchen was cleaned up and Lump had received the gift of cake, the grandfather clock in the living room chimed ten times. Monroe had bought it for her just two weeks ago after she’d admired it in a shop window. The gesture had been so sweet—he’d immediately dismissed it as frivolous and an unnecessary (and costly) expense, but he’d bought it to make her happy anyway. He’d surprised her with it, in fact.

                As she’d cleaned the kitchen, she’d gone back and forth between worried and outraged at his continued absence. _Where the hell could he be_?Those words had been playing over and over again in her mind like a broken record for hours now. He’d known she’d planned something and yet here she was, all dressed up for no one other than the damn dog to see her and all her plans in vain.

                When she went to take out the garbage since Monroe wasn’t there to do it, she noticed their neighbor’s lights were still on. With a look of grim determination on her face, she crossed the distance between their houses. She paused to compose herself and knocked on the door.

                “Charlie? What’s wrong?” Jackie asked, a look of concern forming on her face when she saw her friend’s red rimmed eyes.

                Charlie lost it then and burst into tears. “Bass didn’t come home tonight,” she all but wailed. “Did he mention anything to Chuck about having plans after work?”

                Jackie looked back at her husband, who had joined her at the door. “Did he tell you anything?”

                Chuck shared a look with his wife. Jackie narrowed her eyes at him, immediately suspicious. “What did the two of you do?” She _knew_ that look.

                “Me? I didn’t do anything.” Her husband’s face was immediately filled with the fear that was reserved especially for Jackie when he knew he was about to get in trouble for something.

                Charlie looked from one spouse to the next. “If you know something, you have to tell me,” she insisted, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand.

                Chuck came all the way outside and sat down on one of the lawn chairs that graced their porch. “I don’t _know_ anything, exactly—at least, he never mention going out tonight, but I think I know where he might be.”

               

               


	23. Where Will You Run And Hide?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second of two chapters published at once, so if this is the first one you went to, you missed one. Just a heads up! Thanks again for previous comments and thoughts and for sticking with me and being patient.

_Saturday night…_

                Charlie approached the address Chuck had written down for her warily. He’d been reluctant to let her come here alone, but she would not be deterred. She was a big girl and knew how to handle herself. Of course, she wasn’t a total idiot. She’d gone over to Shawn’s that morning to enlist his aid in dragging Monroe home, but the landlady had told her he’d already left town again Friday morning.

                The night before she’d learned a few things about both her neighbor and her partner that she’d hadn’t known before and she was still a little disturbed by it. Chuck had reluctantly told her about his own past. Before moving to Austin with his wife and children, he’d been the son of a particularly brutal Warlord in Nebraska. As heir apparent to the clan, he’d spent his formative years going on raids and as he grew older had become quite adept at killing just for the sake of it.

                And then, when he was twenty years old, he’d met Jackie. In the end, he’d betrayed his clan for her and for the unborn child they’d accidently made together. Because of the reputation that followed him and the bounty his father had put on his head for turning traitor, they’d eventually made their way to Austin. They’d changed their last names from Donnelly to Coyle and had left the plains behind them completely.

                As it happened, his younger brother had uncovered their whereabouts during the war. The clan had wintered over closer to the border. Because of the Patriots’ onslaught on all of the clans, they’d lost their former lands in Nebraska and were now nomadic. Johnathon Donnelly had managed to slip away for a few days to “hunt”. Instead, he’d met up with Chuck in a less than desirable part of town.

                Charlie had heard that the once blue collar suburb on the western edge of town was seedy at best and downright criminal at its worst, but she’d never actually been there. She’d had no reason to seek the entertainments to be had there. It was there that Chuck had met his brother, and there that he’d accidently run into Monroe.

                Her neighbors had explained that up until that night, they knew that he’d ducked out every now and then, but hadn’t known where he’d gone. Once every month or two, he’d just ask them to take care of the dog for a few days. Of course, Chuck had confronted Monroe about his presence in the red-light district.

                It had been just after the holidays and he’d been devastated when Charlie hadn’t sent word or offered to let him see Bethany during that time. He’d told Chuck he’d just needed to blow off some steam. He didn’t mention his previous visits here, but his friend had put two and two together. It was obvious that this was where Monroe disappeared to when he “left town”.

                The neighborhood was the worst kept secret in Austin. For the most part, the local authorities left them alone as long as the people there kept themselves and their activities out of the rest of the city. Every so often there’d be a particularly nasty murder and then they’d swoop in and crack down for a while. When that happened, it almost always involved someone from the “right side of the tracks” that had been slumming. The people that actually lived there were deemed insignificant and therefore were left largely alone to police themselves.

                Chuck had insisted on her waiting a day to see if he’d come back on his own. By the time he’d finished telling her his tale and giving her directions, it was almost dawn and he’d reasoned that more than likely Monroe had found someplace to sleep it off by then. She’d reluctantly agreed and had spent the day exhausted and worried, only getting a short nap in while Bethany took hers.

                On her guard, Charlie entered the bar Chuck had seen Monroe in. The second the door closed behind her, she could feel every lecherous eye in the place landing on her. Knowing she was being sized up, she waited until someone got a bit to forward with the placement of their hands. With a smirk, she drew her gun out of the back of her jeans and held it to the guy’s head. “I’m not looking for a date,” she said coolly.

                The bar grew silent and time seemed to stretch on. A few minutes later, Mr. Hands started to laugh. “Fair enough,” he said as he raised his roaming digits in surrender and backed away.

                The rest of the room went back to business as usual within seconds. Charlie knew she’d be left alone now. There was always someone out there that couldn’t resist a challenge, but most would consider her to be more trouble than she was worth. There were much easier conquests roaming around.

                She went up to the bar and ordered a drink. After a while, the bartender came to check on her. She still had seen no sign of Monroe. She’d get nowhere like this. “Hey, where would I go if I was looking for some action? Nothing too crazy, just looking to make a few bets—boxing, cards or whatever.”

                She paid for her whiskey while the bartender considered her. “They run a few fights next door but it’s kind of exclusive. If the price is right, I could get you in maybe.”

                Charlie was well aware that he’d not exactly been referring to monetary payment. Arching a brow in challenge, she slapped a few diamonds on the bar and waited for him to consider her offer. The bartender scooped them up and looked them over, making sure they were real. “Done,” he said as he pocketed her payment and turned to get one of the waitresses to watch the bar for him.

                Ten minutes later, Charlie found herself in the neighboring establishment. From the outside, it looked like just another slum, but it was a least a small measure nicer than the bar she’d just left. There were already two men squaring off in a roped off area in the center of the room, neither of which was hers. She looked around nonchalantly, but she didn’t see him hanging outside of the fight ring either.

                She ordered a drink and leaned casually at the bar and tried to blend in. Experience having made her wiser, she didn’t actually drink the whiskey, just held it. Some of the patrons in this place reminded her of those assholes in Pottsboro and she wasn’t taking any chances. When no one was looking, she dumped her glass into some poor drunk’s empty one and then innocently ordered another.

                After a while she was almost ready to move on and start looking for him at some of the other places in the neighborhood when she happened to overhear two women talking. They were obviously whores, and seemed comfortable with their surroundings. If Charlie had to hazard a guess, she’d say they worked for the club’s patron.

                “Crash and burn?” The brunette asked the redhead as they sat down a few stools down away Charlie. “You’d better watch it, offering freebies like that. Tony’s warned you ‘bout it twice now.”

                “Not like he took me up on it anyway. Who’d have thought it? Jimmy King finally found himself a girl. What’s the world coming to?”

                The brunette sighed. “It’s always the lookers. I wonder if he fell in with a working girl. You know, like Cinderella?” She cackled at her own joke, pausing to light a hand-rolled cigarette before ordering another drink from the bar. “You know if he’s fighting again? Might as well get another look at that ass. I need a good mental image—the prospects tonight are a little… ick.”

                The other girl just rolled her eyes at her friend. “Yeah, well I wouldn’t hold your breath. Tony’d be stupid to let him go back in. He might be good for fucking, but not fighting—trust me, he’s spent.”

                Charlie knew they had to be talking about Monroe. Jimmy King? It couldn’t be a coincidence. So, at least she knew he wasn’t getting laid while he was on this increasingly disturbing hiatus. That meant that she only had to kick his ass, not kill him—that is if he was even in any condition for that. The whore’s words had her worried more than ever.

                Before long, the current match had ended and a new one was set up to begin. Monroe came out of the back, shirtless and looking like hell. He was already sporting some cuts and bruises on his face and ribcage. The bartender announced the fight—Jimmy King and some guy simply known as Burley. The cheers the latter received suggested he was a regular around here and favored to win. 

                Charlie had almost found the fact that he was using his old alias laughable. Anyone that had survived the Patriot purge that had been in New Vegas when they’d gone on their second trip to the settlement would know who Jimmy King really was. From what she’d happened to overhear, there were quite a few refugees from that den of iniquity that had landed on their feet here. Then again, there were probably very few people that could make the connection that would ever cross paths with him when he went back home.

                Someone banged on a large old gong that was hanging from the ceiling near the bar and the match began. She could tell immediately by the way that he moved that Monroe was on his last legs. His stance was unsteady and he didn’t move as quickly as he should have. She’d seen him fight a lot better in much shittier circumstances, by far.

                “Didn’t you get a bet in on time?” A voice from behind her had Charlie turning away from the fight for just a second. The man that had taken the place of the now missing drunk appeared just a bit cleaner than the rest of the men in the bar. Something about the way he carried himself told Charlie that he wasn’t a threat—and that he just might be worth talking to.

                “Huh?” She asked, confused.

                “You don’t seem too excited over the fight. Just figured it was ‘cause you didn’t have anything riding on it,” he said with a shrug.

                Charlie hadn’t realized that she was the only one in the bar that didn’t obviously work there that wasn’t cheering for one fighter or the other. In short, she stuck out like a sore thumb. “I like to scope out a few fights before I throw down,” she said, playing it off. She immediately pegged him as being someone important—he was too urbane in comparison to the others. “What’s with this King guy? Looks kind of beat up,” Charlie added.

                “Oh you mean Jimmy? Comes in every now and again—not really a regular like the other guys.” He nodded in Monroe’s direction as he casually leaned on the bar. “It’s too bad. He’s got what it takes to make some serious dough.”

                “Really? Cause he’s about to get his ass kicked,” Charlie said, trying her best to sound impartial about the whole thing. In reality, her heart was pounding in her chest. Monroe really was taking quite the beating and it made her feel sick to see it.

                “Yeah, he’s in a weird mood tonight. Usually goes a few rounds, ties one on and then takes the money and runs. This time, he says wants to fight ‘til he drops.” He turned to the bartender and signaled for two shots. He waited for the man to comply and then handed one to her. “Doesn’t come around very often, but when he does, he’s usually something to see. Shoulda seen him last night, he was on it then. This? Well, it’s his eighth fight since yesterday.”

                Charlie had to hold her breath to keep the panic at bay. Eight in two days? He was going to get himself killed if he didn’t stop. Just then, Burley got a few more good hits in and Monroe went down hard. Two men dragged him out of the makeshift ring and towards the back of the establishment. “Where they taking him?” she asked, trying to play it off as just mild curiosity.

                “They’ll take him round back to wake him up. He’s done. Don’t worry about him—got a thick ass skull. If he’s got a brain left in it, he’ll pay his tab and get the hell out of here.”

                Charlie made small talk with her new “friend” for a while, sharing another drink and just making conversation. Eventually, she asked him how he knew everyone so well. “I own the joint,” he said as he offered his hand. “Tony Frey.”

                Charlie accepted his handshake, introducing herself as Sally Barker. In her mind, she offered a silent apology to the sweet housekeeper that had worked so hard to keep Monroe’s house in order in Nashville. The last thing she wanted was someone repeating her name and Monroe finding out. He might bolt before she had a chance to confront him—that is, if he was even awake yet.

                “So, wanna get out of here?” Tony asked as he very plainly checked her out. He obviously liked what he saw.

                Charlie offered him an apologetic smile. She didn’t want to offend him—he was the best chance she had of getting to Monroe before he did something else stupid. She decided to let him down the easiest way possible. “Sorry, Tony. I don’t swing your way. Now that redhead over there…” She trailed off, nonchalantly nodding her head towards one of the whores she’d eavesdropped on earlier.

                Tony laughed knowingly, obviously not put off by her denial. “I’ll send her over—she kind of works for me,” he offered.

                “Actually, I was hoping you could introduce me with that Jimmy King guy when he comes to. I’ve got a business proposition for him,” Charlie countered, digging her hand into her pocket and revealing a few more diamonds. “I need something taken care of, and he looks like he just might be the type of guy I’m looking for.”


	24. A Showdown Long Awaited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The long awaited argument scene. It took me longer than I thought to get it up. Its dialog heavy, and I always have trouble with those—I’ll write it up, but upon rereading, it never seems to flow right, and so then it’s revise, reread and so on.  
> This is the first of three chapters that I will (hopefully) get up today, including the epilogue.

                Monroe sat slumped on the world’s filthiest mattress in one of the backrooms of the club. Someone had been courteous enough to douse him with several buckets of water to wake him up, and he’d eventually made his way inside from the overgrown jungle that had once been a backyard. The room he’d claimed was little more than a closet, really. There was little space for anything other than the twin sized bed, small table and basin.

                It was one of several that served as both a staging area for fighters (or in Monroe’s case, a recovery room) and for a private place for the whores that worked for Tony to take their clients. The club’s owner was willing to let him stay here and make sure he was largely left alone—for a small fee, of course.

                From that very first fight; the very first punch he’d thrown, a euphoric rush of adrenaline had coursed through him and he’d experienced an overwhelming feeling of release. It had taken him higher than any drug or drink ever could and he’d been chasing that sensation in every fight since. That he’d never found it again was no surprise, and yet he’d kept on throwing himself in there.

                Being knocked out cold and the dousing he’d received afterwards had unfortunately sobered him too much for his liking. Now that the monster inside—that creature born of an odd blend of self-hatred and fury against the world— had been appeased and silenced once more, he was left feeling old, drained and sore. And yet the same time, he felt that combination of peace and relief he’d been longing for these past months.

                Monroe’s ears were still ringing a little from that last hit, but considering his age and what he’d just put his body through, he was a lot better off than he had a right to be. One thing was for certain: he would _not_ be fighting again. He knew when he was done, and that was about three fights ago. He was getting too old for this shit, and there was going to come a time that he’d have to face that fact and find some other way to deal with himself.

                The only thing that kept him from paying his considerable bar tab and going home now was the fear of what would be there when he walked in that door. Would he come home to find it empty? Or would Charlie be there ready to throw down? He knew it really could go either way and he dreaded finding out which.

                His disappearing for a weekend of prize fighting did not fit Charlie’s cookie-cutter definition of what he should be doing and that he’d have a lot of explaining to do. He had no idea what he was going to tell her exactly, assuming of course that she was even there to demand an explanation. The idea of going back home and adopting that passive persona once more made him feel sick, but he couldn’t see a way to avoid it. She’d have less tolerance for his moods now after he’d pulled this stunt.

                He was bent over the basin, washing the rest of his own blood off of himself when someone knocked on the door. “Hold on a sec,” he muttered as he wiped his face on a rust stained towel, wincing as he put too much pressure on his jaw. He’d have a nasty bruise there in the morning. He reached for his shirt as he opened the door to reveal the owner of the bar.

                Unlike Gould, Tony was actually a decent sort. He was probably as honest as someone in this neighborhood could be.  Whereas the deceased casino owner had treated everyone that walked into the settlement as property, Tony actually gave a damn about the fighters (and surprisingly, the hookers) that did business here. And unlike Gould, he wasn’t a total dick either.

                “Hey Jimmy,” Tony began as he stepped into the room, using his most placating voice. “Wow, you look like shit!”

                “Gee, thanks a lot,” Monroe mumbled, backing up to allow Tony enough room to close the door behind him.

                Listen, I’ve got a favor to ask. There’s some girl out here wanting to meet you.”

                Monroe had been plagued with offers like this since he’d gotten here and he was downright tired of them. “Tell her I’m not interested in whatever she’s selling,” he snapped as he yanked his t-shirt over his head.

                “She’s not here to fuck you,” Tony protested. “Says she’s got a job she wants to offer you.” The last thing the bar owner wanted to do was give the mysterious young woman her diamonds back, but if Jimmy refused to see her, he couldn’t see a way out of that. He had a reputation to uphold, after all.

                “I’ve already got a job—not interested.”

                Always the business man, Tony came up with Plan B on the fly. “Tell you what, there’s a free bottle in it for you if you humor her,” he said with a grin. He’d quickly calculated and realized that even a bottle of the decent stuff would allow him to come out ahead and still save face.  

                Monroe sighed wearily. Meeting some girl was the last thing he wanted right now, but at least he’d get drunk out of the deal. If anything, a good buzz would go a long way towards helping him forget that he was getting to old for this shit. “Dammit. Bring the whiskey—and the girl.”

                Tony sent one of his own girls to bring the bottle before letting “Sally” in. He knew better than to let her in first. His part-time boxer was in bad enough of a mood already and he’d rather the man not take it out of the girl. He had no doubt in his mind that she wasn’t into women as she’d said, but she was a looker to be sure. If she decided to come back, she might draw in some good business.  

                Monroe somehow managed a good half hour to acquaint himself with Tony’s bribe before the door opened once more. Less than enthused about the meet and greet, he didn’t even look up. “You’ve got five minutes to tell me what you want. I’ve got somewhere I’ve gotta be.”

                “You’re damn right you do,” Charlie’s voice rang out.

                Monroe almost dropped the bottle in his hand. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. He suddenly felt like a condemned man finally facing his executioner. When he opened his eyes and looked up at Charlie, she was leaning up against the door, arms crossed in front of her chest and looking ready to murder him.

                If he was a smart man (or a completely sober one), he’d have kept his trap shut, let her yell at him and then allowed her to drag him home. At that moment however, he was not feeling very bright. He’d never told her about this place and his previous visits because he was determined to keep this side of himself locked up where no one—especially Charlie would be able to see. Her presence now defeated that purpose, which made him inexplicably mad at her.

                “What the hell are you doing here?” he finally asked.

                Charlie narrowed her eyes at him, making it absolutely clear that his choice of words was _not_ appreciated. “I could ask the same thing, Bass. What the hell is the matter with you? I’ve been worried sick.”

                “Go home, Charlie.” Despite the alarms that were going off in his mind, Monroe chose the low road. If he could just get her to back off, he could finish his whiskey and wind up this little adventure. There was plenty of time for groveling later. “We’re not doing this here. I’ll be home in the morning. We can fight about it then.”

                “Oh, we’re fighting about it now,” Charlie spat at him, advancing towards where he sat. Monroe was pretty sure she was about as pissed as he’d ever seen her—and he’d seen her when she’d been literally trying to kill him.

                “I’m not in the mood for this. I’m tired and I feel like shit,” he warned as he set his whiskey down on the floor. So much for having gotten it out of his system. The way she stood there, hands now on her hips and her stubborn chin jutting towards him pissed him off all over again. As sore as he was, he shot to his feet, barely avoiding knocking the bottle over in the process.

                “Too fucking bad. That’s your problem, not mine.”

                More than anything, he just wanted her to go away so he could force his temper back down again before they talked. It was a last ditch effort, to be sure. He grabbed her by the elbow, surprising her. He ushered her towards the door with every intent of tossing her out of there. “I said, I’m not doing this now.”

                “If you want me to still be there in the morning, you sure as hell are. What the fuck is going on with you, Bass?”

                And then, he lost it. “You want to know, Charlie? Do you really? You. You’re what’s wrong.” He hadn’t raised his voice. He hadn’t had to. The words had been enough. She suddenly stiffened. “There? Are you happy now? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

                She whipped around. They were toe to toe now. The look on her face told him that his confession did not have the desired effect. He’d been just angry enough to let the brutal honesty hurt her, but she only looked more ready to kill him than she was when she’d first entered the room.

                “Excuse me?” That had been the last thing she’d expected and the worst possible thing he could say to her. “What the fuck did I do? I only put up with your bullshit and excuses not to talk and stuck around even though you were pretty much going back on your end of the bargain.”

                “With _my_ bullshit? What about yours, Charlie? What about all the times that you just had to go out of your way to remind me about what a fuck up I am?” Monroe was shouting now and it felt good.

                “What the hell are you talking about?” Charlie was genuinely confused. That just pissed him off more.

                “Really? I moved here and started over because I just wanted to forget everything that happened. Everyone says _I’m_ the obsessive one, but my god, you _never_ let it go.” Monroe knew he should probably shut up now, but the words just kept coming out. “And what’s worse, is you’re constantly using Bethany as a weapon against me. Talk about this or we’re gone. Don’t be that guy or you can’t be around her.”

                “You _know_ why that is,” Charlie reminded him, her words coming out as a hiss. “You even agreed that you needed to be better—that you couldn’t be the man you were in Nashville. It’s not healthy for her to see that.”

                “I _am_ better. Or, at least was until you suddenly decided that it wasn’t good enough. I mean for fuck’s sake I’m trying here, but you’d rather me turn into a passive little douche bag. I have to walk around on eggshells around you, afraid to say or do the wrong thing so you won’t leave. It’s driving me fucking crazier than I’ve ever been, and that’s saying a lot.”

                For some reason, that was about the most insulting thing Charlie had _ever_ heard in her life. She almost felt like she was watching herself from a distance when her hand connected with his face. The sound of it echoed around the small room. She put just enough force behind the blow for his head to snap back.

                When he recovered from the slap, Monroe whipped his head back around to glare at her. He could read that flash of fear in her eyes. _She thinks I’d hit her?_ He had no problem hitting back if that’s what it took, but that was in battle. _This_ was a domestic dispute, and he’d never raised his hand to a woman in the middle of one—and it hadn’t crossed his mind to do so now. There were much better ways to get a point across.

                He grabbed her by the arms, fingers digging into her and yanked her to him. When Charlie opened her mouth to tell him he was hurting her, Monroe silenced her by crashing his lips against hers. The kiss was brutal, harsh. The pressure of it split his cut lip back open and Charlie could practically taste the rage behind that kiss mixed in with the coppery flavor of the blood that now seeped from the wound.

                The urge to lose herself for just a second was strong, but Charlie wasn’t ready to end the argument just yet. She tried to push him away, struggling against him. Monroe’s grip on her tightened, but her squirming only seemed to distract him. She kept it up and he loosened his hold on her arms as he hardened against her.

                Charlie took advantage and was able to break free. They stared one another down, chests heaving. Both were convinced they had the right of things and neither was willing to back down. Charlie had every intention of putting some distance between them, but the soldier in Monroe had him anticipating her movements.

                Before she realized how it happened, he’d gotten ahold of her once more. He leaned in to kiss her again, but Charlie fought against him again and managed to just barely keep him at bay for the time being. “Knock it off,” she snapped as she tried to straighten her elbows.

                Monroe refused to back down. “Kiss me back, Charlie,” he growled right before he claimed her mouth a second time. “Or am I not good enough for you now?”

                His tone shocked her into complying. For just a split second she stilled and he released one arm, sliding his hand up to her face and forcing her jaw open with his thumb. When his tongue swept into her mouth, she found herself meeting him halfway.

                It was as if words had become too difficult and this was how their argument was to proceed. He was hurt and angry at the way she’d been holding leaving over him—that threat was a painful one and it was killing him. It hurt that she didn’t want _him_ , and instead was trying to mold him into some idealized version she’d come up with in her head.

                On Charlie’s end, she was really scared more than anything. If he didn’t find a way to hold the darkness inside at bay, what would become of him? Would she wake up one day next to a mad man? Or would he just simply give up on the battle he waged against his past and the depression it caused? If there was one thing that pissed of Charlie, it was fear. She wasn’t afraid of him, she was afraid for him—and so she was taking it out on him.

                At some point over the next several moments, Charlie was able to admit to herself that she was every bit as angry with herself as she was with him. She should have known better that this easy going attitude he’d been faking all this time was bullshit. The fact that he’d felt forced to pretend that everything was just fine was worse than the fact that it wasn’t and she couldn’t blame him for that. She’d all but told him to become this pale comparison of his real self, even if she hadn’t intended to.

                Charlie wrenched her arms free, but instead of getting away or slapping him again, she stood on her toes and kept her mouth on his. Unrestrained, she struggled out of her jacket to reveal her old standby tank top.

                It was Monroe that ended the kiss, stepping back to allow him room to look her over. She’d chosen her wardrobe for this evening with great care. The outfit was definitely tighter than when she’d worn it so long ago while they’d still traipsed around fighting the patriots and one another. The tank top now left little to the imagination. It excited him and gave him something else to be angry about at the same time. She was _his_ and yet she’d shown up in this club wearing _that?_

                He slid his hands down her sides and found the hem. Watching her intensely, he yanked up on the material. The sound of fabric tearing was painfully alluring. He pulled her closer, picking up where they’d left off. When she slid her own hands up the inside of his shirt, he backed off with a hiss.

                Charlie looked down, pulling the garment up and saw the bruising. She’d noticed it earlier when he’d come out to fight, but either the lighting had not done it justice or it had gotten significantly worse. She flicked her gaze up at him in concern, but only received an angry glare in response. At that moment, her empathy was neither wanted nor appreciated. It only served to humiliate him further. In defiance, he removed his shirt himself, daring her to say something about his current condition.

                When she said nothing, Monroe went for her neck. He alternated between bites, kisses and licks as he worked his way down to her shoulder. Charlie tilted her head back to give him more access, wincing a few times when he bit down harder than was strictly necessary. She knew he was marking her, and yet it excited her—the pain arousing her as much as the pleasure.

                Monroe had worked across her collarbones and grabbed fistful of her hair, forcing her neck to arch the other way so he could begin the tortuous path back up her neck. “This is who I am. I’m always going to be just a little fucked up,” he growled into her ear as he began to nip at the lobe, forcing a shudder and a moan from her. “If you can’t take me as I am, then we aren’t going to work—but I swear to God if try to hide her from me again, I’ll come after you. There isn’t a place you can go where I won’t find you and this time, I’ll fight you for her.”

                That angry threat should have pissed her off all over again. It was in that moment; however, that Charlie realized that _this_ is what had been missing. This was her Bass talking now. Up until this point, he’d been a shadow of the man she’d fall in love with. Her Bass pushed back and would fight tooth and nail for something he wanted or someone he loved.  

                “Finally,” she groaned as her hands slid up his body, not stopping until her fingers were tangled in his unruly curls. She pulled down, urging him on as he now found the valley between her breasts. He flicked her bra open and practically tore it from her.

                Roughly kneading one breast, he practically attacked the other with his mouth as he grabbed her ass and pressed her against him. Thrusting his hips forward, he showed her just how much he wanted her.

                The feel of his erection pressing against her through their clothes had Charlie moaning. Arching her back, she yanked on his hair again, her nails scratching his scalp and earning a grunt of approval from him.

                Charlie grew impatient and reached for his belt, fumbling a little as she unbuckled it. Without missing a beat, she undid his zipper and slid her hand in, seeking the hardness that his clothing still concealed from her.

                Monroe let out a low groan when her hand found its target. He thrust forward, pressing himself further into her hand. Charlie kept her grip firm, sliding her hand up and down his length several times before venturing further into his pants and cupping him. All the while he panted and flexed his hips, encouraging her.

                He felt like he was about to lose his mind and every bit of his self-control when she suddenly dropped to her knees and yanked his jeans down further so that she had access to all of him. He gasped loudly and then let his eyes flutter closed when she took him into her mouth. With one hand working in tandem with the hot cavern of her mouth, she grabbed his ass for support. She worked him perfectly, her tongue swirling around his tip each time she came back up again.

                With a hand on the back of her head, he guided her as she continued to torture him. He thrust forward to fuck her mouth each time she came back down on him, forcing her to take him just a bit deeper and not caring if it was too deep. When he ventured to glance down at Charlie, she was looking up at him.

                Their eyes locked as she continued and he could see the desire burning in her gaze. It was too much and he realized that if she didn’t stop he was going to come—and the instinct to finish elsewhere was too strong at the moment. He wrenched himself free, pulling his pants up enough so he could move. He yanked Charlie to her feet and found her mouth again.

                She let out a small yelp of surprise when he picked her up and practically threw her onto the bed. When he tore her boots and pants off of her, he flipped her over revealing her tantalizing backside to him. He started at her ankle, running one hand up her leg, slowly. He paused at her bottom for a moment and then reached out with both hands to adjust her position.

                Monroe now kicked himself free of his shoes and pants and came up behind her on the bed. She was faced down on mattress, her legs spread and waiting. Aware that her panties were still in the way, he solved that problem by simply tearing the lace, destroying them in the process.

                He reached under her and ran a finger up her slit, groaning with desire as she drenched his finger. He crawled atop her and used his knee to force her legs further apart, taking her from behind and filling her with one quick and violent thrust of his hips.

                The shouts and cheers coming from just beyond the door indicated that another fight had begun in the ring, but they were oblivious to anything other than the sounds of their own harsh and ragged breathing as Monroe continued to slam into her as hard as the angle would allow. His fingers dug into her hips painfully, but Charlie relished it and the bruises that were sure to mar her later.

                Knowing his rhythm well, she was well aware that he now only had one goal in mind. He was hitting all the right places inside, but she craved more friction. Charlie tried to push up on her hands and knees, but the weight of him over her would not allow this, so all she could do was snake a hand under her to stroke herself while the onslaught continued.

                Monroe would have none of it. One hand still gripping her hip just a bit too tightly, he reached under her and captured her hand with his own. Her fingers were trapped against her flesh and each time he slammed back into her, he pulled back, grinding her hand against the bundle of nerves.

                Charlie let out a long moan; the sharp pleasure from the stimulation was almost too much. Urged on by the sounds she was making, Monroe resumed his abuse of her shoulders and neck, biting and then soothing the marks he’d left with his tongue. Charlie cried out again, overwhelmed as she began to quake, her body wound tight and ready for release.

                He was close—too close. He’d been a lost cause since the moment he’d entered her as it was. Everything tightened and it was inevitable when Charlie’s sheath finally began to contract around him. He fucked her through it, ramming inside and bottoming out several more times before he let go. He jerked as he came, the force of it lifting her just a little off the bed before he collapsed on top of her.

                The room had grown hot but he was too spent to do more than roll on his side, taking her with him. She could feel his heart pounding in his chest up against her back as they lay their together, bodies still joined and their limbs heavy.

                Sometime later, Monroe opened his eyes to see the marks he’d left along the back of her shoulders. With a grimace, he just stared at them. There were several that had been smeared with red, but whether he’d drawn blood or it was from his split lip was anyone’s guess.

                He pulled his now softening member out of her and pushed himself up on one elbow, leaning forward to place gentle kisses on the bites and hickeys he’d left. As he worked to sooth the damage he’d caused, he stroked her gently up and down her arm with his free hand.

                Charlie practically purred in contentment at the contact. Now free to move as she willed, she twisted around and looked up at him. She gently traced her hand down the side of his face, noting that several bruises from his earlier fights had already started to form.

                The tenderness of her touch had his heart pounding all over again. The fiery red haze of his earlier anger had completely dissipated, leaving only the sadness that had caused it behind. There was still a lot that they needed to talk about and there was no putting it off this time.

               

               

               

               

               


	25. Final Resolutions With No Strings Attached

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first started this story, it was supposed to be like 10 chapters and all of them short. It’s gotten out of hand. This is the 2nd of three chapters for the day. If this was the first you’ve read today, you’ve missed one. Up next is the epilogue.

                They lay there together, the muffled sounds from outside the room reminding the both of them where they were. For the time being, Monroe just tucked her under his chin and wrapped his arms around her, as if by doing so he could keep her with him just a little longer.

                “I’m sorry I ruined your plans,” he finally said quietly. There were a lot more important things to worry about than her failed attempt to celebrate his birthday, but he needed to break the silence somehow—and he was sorry. Monroe didn’t know exactly what she’d planned, but whatever it had been, she at least had made an effort.

                “It’s okay. I know you hate birthdays anyway.”

                The fact that she’d so readily accepted his apology only made what he was about to say next harder. “I meant what I said earlier, Charlie. I can’t live like this anymore. I can’t keep pretending I’m something I’m not.

                “I never tried to hide myself from you—from the day you showed up in my office I laid it all on the line for you. You _knew_ and you still loved me once. Why can’t that man be enough for you now?”

                Charlie pushed away and sat up. Monroe’s gaze was fixed of to the side and he refused to look at her. “Bass, I—”

                “Let me finish.” Monroe knew if he didn’t get it all out now, he never would. “Either you love me, or you don’t; either you want to be with me, or not. I can’t do this one foot in the door shit. If I’m not what you want, you need to tell me. I’ll find you a place—or, better yet, I’ll give you the house and I’ll get an apartment or something on campus.”

                He finally looked at her; his blue eyes were shining in the dim lamplight. Monroe fully expected her to say it was too much for her to deal with. Why wouldn’t it be? No one wanted the stress of living with someone with as many issues as he. “I won’t let you take Bethany way from me though. I’ve buried two children. I can’t lose a third.”

                Charlie stopped him there. “Wait, a third child?” she asked, holding up a hand. “When did you have another kid?”

                Monroe hadn’t been aware that Charlie didn’t know. He sat up against the cracked headboard of the bed and held his arms out to her. When she finally complied, he settled her in between his legs, holding her against his chest as he told her the story of the young man that had lost it all. By the time that he was done, her eyes brimmed and heart ached for the man that buried his humanity alongside his wife and child so long ago.

                “You never told me,” she murmured when he was done.            

                “I—I thought you knew,” he said with a sad sigh. “I don’t talk about them, but I would have if I’d have known Miles hadn’t told you already—he seems to have no trouble telling the rest of the world, so I just figured he’d have mentioned something to the one person that had a right to know about it.”

                Her heart was breaking for him and now she understood why he’d been acting the way he had. “After the way things ended before, I was terrified. I found out I was pregnant and I just freaked out. When we read about Connor, I didn’t know what you’d do when you found out about the baby, so I hid in Willoughby, knowing you wouldn’t come for me there.”

                “Do you have any idea how much it hurt to have to find out from Shawn?” Monroe’s tears flowed freely now. “How much it still hurts? She doesn’t even have my last name, Charlie. Even now, it’s like you’re still trying to keep your options open. Every time you showed up at my door, it was so hard to let you go again, and now you expect me to do it again if you change your mind.”

                Charlie grabbed the sides of his face, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Look at me—that’s not what I’m trying to do. I’m sorry I implied that I was. It’s just that it scares me how easily you can go back there in your head.”

                “You have to know that no matter how fucked up I get, I’d _never_ hurt you and Bethany. I promise I--”

                Charlie practically smothered Monroe’s mouth with her hand. “Now it’s time for you to let me talk, okay?” She waited for him to nod before continuing. “I love you, not this weird yes man you’ve been pretending to be, but you—crabby, depressed, idiotic you. I just wanted you to talk to me so I knew you were going to be okay. I never expected you to turn into the damned dog and just let me walk all over you.”

                When he opened his mouth to reply, Charlie smacked him. She got him in a sore spot and he yelped in protest. “I said, shut up. I just need you to let me know when life is piling up on you. If you can handle that, I can handle the fact that you’re just a little nuts, okay?”

                Her lecture complete, Charlie settled back down against him and they lay there together for some time while Monroe mulled her words over in his mind.

                “Charlie?”

                “Hmmm?” It was obvious that she’d started to doze off a little, and when she finally looked up at him with sleep filled eyes, he couldn’t help but smile down at her.  

                “I think I’m ready to go home now.”

                After Monroe took the time to settle up with Tony’s bartender, they started the long walk home. They talked as they made their way through the quiet streets of Austin. He told her about that last conversation he’d had with Connor. “Those idiots in Congress may have put the idea in his head, but it was never about taking over. It was about taking it away. I don’t know if being in Mexico messed him up or if he was always like that. I knew he was sick, but I didn’t know how deeply it ran.”

                Charlie told him of how she and Miles had both been so desperate of news of him and how they’d ached for him as they’d collected those articles and letters from Shawn. “I wish I could have been there for you. You shouldn’t have had to go through all of that alone.”

                “You were there with me the whole time,” Monroe confessed. He went on to describe all of the nights he’d spent in her quarters, alone and depressed. How he’d read the letter she’d left so many times he had it memorized. He told her how being there and seeking out traces of her had pulled him back more than once—both from doing things that would have let the monster inside take over completely, and from putting said monster out of its misery.

                By the time they got to the cul de sac, Charlie had forced an explanation over what had happened over the past week. She was downright indignant in her defense of him. The fact that once again a member of Texas’ congress was instrumental in messing with her life by driving her man crazy was almost enough to send Charlie packing for Cali (with her family in tow, of course).

                Monroe had been floored by her support-- not that he should have been so surprised. Rather than expecting him to go off the deep end, she’d have backed him up and maybe would have given him what he’d needed to get through the week feeling a little less persecuted. He now felt like an idiot for not having confided in her, and made sure that she knew it.

                When they got home, they found a note wrapped around the doorknob:

_We’ve got your munchkin tomorrow. Sleep in, work it out, fuck like bunnies! I’ll bring her home Monday morning. We don’t want to see your faces before then._

_Loves!!_

_Chuck and Jackie_

_(Relationship counseling, parenting advice, and all around awesome neighbors!)_

                The second they walked through the front door, Charlie insisted on them cleaning up a little. That mattress had been disgusting and she was adamant that she was not going to bring anything from that place into their bed. She’d also insisted that Monroe let her tend to some of the worst cuts and bruises.

                “Next time, you’d better keep it to a fight or two instead of letting them beat you to a pulp. If you get yourself killed working off your temper, I’m going to kick your ass,” she told him as she rubbed some salve on the worst of them.

                They were too tired to do more than collapse into bed afterwards. Tomorrow would be soon enough to follow Jackie’s instructions—and Monroe had every intention to do what he’d been told and enjoy every damn minute of it.

                By the time they woke up Monday morning, Charlie could barely walk, Monroe had the biggest ego in Texas because of it, and they’d come to a simple solution to at least one of his hang ups. Since Bethany was his daughter, her name would automatically change if he married her mother, and Charlie had agreed to go through with it. That also solved the problem of him carrying that ring around in his pocket to keep her from finding it—he was starting to worry he’d lose the damn thing if he’d kept doing so.

                Bethany came toddling in the door with Jackie right behind her just as Monroe was putting the coffee on and getting breakfast started. After practically groveling at Jackie’s feet for everything she and Chuck had done in the past few days (and agreeing to help her husband whitewash the house), he sent her on her way so he could concentrate on feeding Bethany.

                His daughter happily followed him as he carried a tray into the bedroom. Charlie waited there, curled up with a book. After making a quick trip to the school to pick up the long forgotten box, he made sure the rest of the day was just for them. While Bethany took her nap later, Charlie put on the dress and Monroe got his birthday present a little late.

               

 

  

 

 


	26. What You Wanted All Along

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah the epilogue—Chapter three for the day, which brings this story (finally) to its end. A big thanks to everyone that’s bothered to read and has stuck with me towards the end. A double thanks and shout out to anyone that’s left comments and thoughts throughout!  
> I’ve got a few more things in the works, but I’m not sure which I’ll start with next. I think I’ve straightened out where I want to go with the What If series, so I may go there, but I also have another post patriot war story I’d come up with when I was still in the middle of this one. It’s Charloe (because I can’t help myself) but the drama itself does not come from them fighting—I know, rare of me..  
> I’ll mull it over for a week or two before I get writing again. Thanks again for reading and commenting!

_Three years later…_

                Chaos had erupted in the Monroe household. Four year old Bethany and her two year old sister, Courtney were running around the house, chasing the family cat. Lump had gone to that big lazy doorway in the sky and had since been replaced by the unfortunate feline that the girls were now torturing.

                Monroe had made the mistake of feeding the one-eared, mangy tabby just once and somehow she’d decided he was worth following home. Of course, it had taken the animal another two weeks of his leaving food out before she’d let him touch her and another week before she’d come inside, but the cat had eventually become a part of their household.

                “A little help here?” Charlie asked as she went about getting the baby fed. Little Mary was doing her best to stop the oatmeal she hated from passing between her lips and was having a good time at it.

                “Girls, stop chasing the cat and sit down for breakfast,” he murmured without looking up. Charlie whipped her head to look at him. He had final exams spread out on the table and was going at one with a vengeance with his little red pencil. He’d finally decided to stop hiding the fact he needed reading glasses and they were now perched on the bridge of his nose.

                His office had long since been converted back into a bedroom and so the kitchen table was the only place he had to grade papers now. The girls came squealing back into the kitchen, hot on the cat’s heels. They’d been impossible ever since Charlie had let it slip that Uncle Miles was coming to town for “Daddy’s big speech.”

                In just a few days, the first graduating class of Frank S. Blanchard University would don their mortarboard hats and gowns, ready to accept their diplomas. Monroe had been asked to give the commencement address, something that Charlie was proud of. Of course, her husband was convinced it was being forced on him as some type of punishment.

                The fact that Miles insisted on coming to see him give the speech only solidified it in Monroe’s mind. The man could claim it was because he was showing his brotherly love and support, but he knew better. Miles was surely only coming to try and trip him up—it’s what he did best. Every time he came to guest lecture, he always did something to embarrass Monroe or make his day miserable. This would be no exception.

                The cat jumped up into his lap, desperate from escape. “What do you want, dumb cat?” he whined, even as he handed her a piece of sausage from his plate and rubbed behind her lone ear.

                Charlie rolled her eyes at the pair. As much effort as he went through to get the thing to trust him, all he ever did was complain about the cat and insist he hated it. “When I asked for help, that wasn’t what I meant.”

                “I’m almost done,” he mumbled as he continued to work on the paper.

                “How bad could they have done? You’ve been working on that one for over half an hour,” Charlie mused as she started to wipe Mary’s sticky fingers and face.

                Monroe set the pencil down and admired his handiwork. “Oh, she aced the test—or she would have, had she not dropped this little gem on her way out the door.” He held up the paper he was working on. It was some notes the student had taken during one of his lectures. Down at the bottom of the page was a doodle of a man hanging from a tree—it was quite obvious who that man was supposed to be.

                Her perpetually immature husband had used his grading pencil to turn the doodle into what looked like a half-solved game of Hangman and had then written a giant red “F” at the top of the notes, having intended on attaching the page to her final exam. “Don’t you thing that’s a bit harsh?” Charlie asked, surprised that he’d failed the student because of it. He still got an occasional jab here and there, but for the most part, he’d learned to take them in stride.

                “Read the note,” he said with a self-satisfied grin as he reached for the coffee cup in front of him.

 _“I highly suggest you solve this puzzle and return it to me before I turn grades in on Monday._ So, what is the answer?”

                Monroe took a final sip of his coffee and gathered up his papers. “You got you’re A back, learn how to draw.” Grabbing the stack of exams, he dislodged the cat and got up from the table. He made it halfway across the kitchen before he dropped the stack, let out a yelp and grabbed his foot.

                “What’s wrong?” Charlie asked, turning in her chair and looking around the baby to watch him as he stood there whining.

                “God damn it!” A quick scan of the floor revealed an old vintage Lego to be the culprit. “We have all girls. Why the fuck do we have Legos?” Most pre-blackout toys were hard to find because they eventually broke or wore out. The little plastic blocks of doom were another story entirely. They were virtually indestructible and of any toy his children could own, Monroe hated them the most.

                Charlie let out a laugh at his discomfort. The glare she got only made it worse. “You’re going to be late,” she reminded him in between giggles.

                “I’ll remember this the first time _you_ step on one of those damn things,” he snapped. Still, he softened and bent to kiss her before limping his way through the house to finish getting dressed for work.

_The following Tuesday…_

                “You’re such a moron,” Rachel said as she smacked Miles in the back of the head.

                “What?” he asked innocently. “I didn’t do anything?”

                Rachel shot him a nasty glare. “I _know_ what you were doing, and it wasn’t nice. This was a big deal for him.”

                Miles just grinned like an idiot. “He didn’t even want to do it. Besides, if I _wasn’t_ there to try and make him mess up, he’d have been worried about what else I was up to, and then he really would have messed the whole thing up. I was _helping_ him.”

                Rachel just rolled her eyes while Charlie tried to hide her amusement. Priscilla had been kind enough to take the girls with her on a walk halfway through. They’d squirmed out of their seats and the older two had been insistent on standing next to Daddy on the podium—they’d barely been caught in time.

                Charlie looked across the lawn and watched her husband while he chatted with a few colleagues. He’d long since ditched the cap and gown Blanchard had _insisted_ he wear—something about it being tradition. Of course, Monroe had griped about it for days beforehand and had increased to full out bitching just that morning, but he’d still done it. As much as he’d tried to downplay it, the role he’d played in the ceremony was an honor.

                Monroe and Aaron were talking to another professor and walking back towards the others when a voice stopped them. “Hey Professor Monroe!”

                Both men stopped and he turned to address the student. “Mr. Perkins,” he said as he held his hand out to shake the young man’s hand. “Looks like you survived graduation, after all. Congratulations.”

                “Thanks professor—and thanks again for helping me get into the med school program next fall. My mom’s still freaking out about it.” The boy’s face had a grin going across it a mile wide.

                “It was my pleasure, Mr. Perkins,” Monroe said. It hadn’t taken a whole lot of work on his behalf, truth be told. He’d just brought it up to Charlie’s grandfather and had let the young man’s records do the rest.

                When a new doctor had moved to Willoughby, Gene had finally agreed to Blanchard’s offer to help get the medical school up and running. Although he’d initially argued that trained doctors were few and far between, he couldn’t ignore the fact that eventually there’d be none left unless someone started training them. He would teach of course, but he was also in charge of admissions for the program.

                Monroe chatted for a few more minutes with his former student about his plans for the future when Johnny Perkins happened to look up. “Hey professor, there’s a hot blonde over there checking you out.” The young man sounded dumbfounded.

                Monroe looked up to see Charlie watching them. She bit lip her as she smiled at them, raising a hand to wave. She was wearing a little sundress that showed off her curves in a demure and somehow yet agonizing way. “That, Mr. Perkins would be Mrs. Monroe.”

“ _That’s_ your wife? Damn! Professor Monroe’s got game!”

                Monroe laughed as he offered the young man a mock salute. “You have no idea. Good luck in medical school, Johnny.” He left the graduate staring in awe as he walked across the law to where she was waiting for them.

                “Hey you,” Charlie smiled as he bent for a quick kiss.

                “Where’s the girls?” he asked, straightening.

                “With Priscilla—Mom and Miles said they’re going to take them back to the hotel to stay with them tonight. Mom says she wants some grandma time.”

                “You’re actually going to help me get her alone, Rachel? Happy birthday to me,” he grinned wickedly.

                The older blond just shot him an icy look, “Ew! Don’t make me regret it, Bass.”

                He ignored her discomfort over his implying sex with her daughter, in fact he continued to bait her. “Where do you think the girls came from, _grandma?_ ” He was standing there with his arm casually draped around Charlie’s shoulders, not a care in the world.

                “And _this_ is the man you chose to marry, Charlie. Aren’t you proud of yourself?” Despite the chill in her tone, Rachel was actually biting the inside of her cheek to keep a straight face. 

                A short while later the girls were safely in the back of the wagon, on their way to a hotel sleep over with their grandmother and uncle. Once most of the students and their families had gone home, Monroe was finally free to leave. With no children for the evening, Charlie and Monroe decided to stop by the bar in their neighborhood for a few drinks. It was rare when they both were able to go out at the same time, so they made sure to take advantage of it.

                Much later, they walked hand in hand towards home, both pleasantly buzzed. “So, what do you want to do this weekend?” Charlie asked casually.

                “Save it. I know about the party—Shawn ratted you out,” Monroe replied as he raised their joined hands so he could kiss the back of hers.

                “Damn. I was hoping to actually surprise you this year,” she whined.

                “Can’t happen. I’m really good at getting people to talk.”

                She just shook her head at him. Some things would never change. “Well… What do you want to do tonight then?”

                He stopped her on the sidewalk and whispered something in her ear while he nuzzled her neck, not caring that the whole damn neighborhood could see. Charlie sighed in contentment at the sensation—and then she elbowed him to get him to stop before they made a scene. It was dark, but still early enough that people were out. “Really?”

                Monroe grunted theatrically and then pulled her back over to him. “Why not? It took Chuck and Jackie five tries to get a _girl_.” Charlie and Jackie had both been pregnant at the same time this last time around and Jackie had finally gotten the girl she’d wanted. 

                “I’m not going to keep popping out kids until we get a boy, so get that idea right out of your head, idiot.”

                He bent Charlie backwards, earning a giggle as he leaned over her to kiss her. “We can at least get one or two more in there,” he insisted as he pulled her upright, catching her when she slumped against him dizzily.

                Charlie steadied herself and resumed walking. They were almost home and still had the whole night ahead of them. “Says the guy that doesn’t have to carry a kid around for nine months.”

                He continued to pester and tease her the rest of the way. By the time they unlocked the door, they practically fell into the house. After a very enthusiastic round of drunken sex, they lay there a little dizzy and sated. Charlie rolled over to him and caught the satisfied look on his face. “You look extra happy,” she mused.

                Monroe just grinned at the ceiling. He thought about that for a second. He had a good job that he loved (embarrassing public speaking aside), good friends, a hot blonde wife, three beautiful mini versions of her to spoil and maybe eventually, a fourth. “I am. It’s not every day you realize that you’ve got everything you never knew you wanted.”


End file.
